


You Are My Light

by begmybrokenheart



Category: Larry - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction, lourry - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Counselling, Depression, Harry Styles - Freeform, Homophobia, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Sadness, Social Anxiety, Suicide, Therapy, gay hate, larry stylinson - Freeform, you are my light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/begmybrokenheart/pseuds/begmybrokenheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is a mentally unstable teenager who is just trying to survive his A-levels, however he is steadily bullied and abused when his entire school discover his true sexuality. Becoming more withdrawn, he resents all social contact, seeing everyone as hostile. Yet a cute, popular Harry Styles takes pity on Louis, and tries to befriend him and draw him out of his shell. As he discovers more about Louis, and Louis discovers more about Harry, it appears something else is at work besides a pity friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> My first chaptered fic I actually decided to publish, so yh, I tried my best, but don’t judge me too bad. For any readers who aren’t native to the English education system, things like ‘A-levels’, ‘sixth form’ etc are basically finals. I tried to tackle any sensitive issues, e.g. depression, suicide etc with a bit of tact, and I hope everything was addressed with due sensitivity. I thank you a whole lot if you’re even reading this atm, please give this a read and inbox me what you thought? I love you a lot.

Louis thought his eyes had closed for the final time. His recollection of his last conscious moments were vague and blurry, yet he recalled himself filling up the bath. 

And the line of painkillers on the window sill.

The next thing he was aware of was a tortured scream, then all turned dark. He was so afraid of the welcoming darkness, it seemed too comforting. He resisted it as best he could, but he felt it pressing down upon him like a ton weight. 

Seconds, or minutes, or days, or years later, Louis couldn’t tell, the pressure on him began to ease. The cessation of the drowsiness and the blurriness of his thoughts made the true magnitude of what he tried to do hit him. 

As his senses became more acute, and recovered from the drugs, he felt a soft bed underneath him, and the gentle, rhythmic beeping of a cardiac monitor. A gentle female voice sounded near his right ear.

“He should be showing signs of coming around soon. We pumped his stomach in time, we got most of the Paracetamol out of his system.” 

As he became more and more aware of his thoughts, he came to the conclusion he was in a hospital and his ‘attempt’ had been unsuccessful. He couldn’t even think about would have happened if he had succeeded. He still so vividly recalled that towering wall of darkness that threatened to engulf him. 

A quiet sobbing became quite apparent to Louis’ right, yet he did not have the strength to open his eyes yet. It sounded like his mother. Over all, the thing he could not cope with was seeing his own mother cry. 

“Doctor!” His mother shouted, “He’s crying!” 

Two pairs of footsteps approached the right side of Louis’ bed. A soft hand wiped moisture off the right side of his face. 

”Hmm…” The female doctor mused, “He must be able to hear us-” She wasn’t able to complete her sentence. Louis felt a body clutch itself to his own. 

“Oh baby, baby, baby. My little Lou I nearly lost you.” His mother sobbed into his chest, “I love you so much, please, just open your eyes and come back to me.” She begged. 

Louis’ face contorted slightly, this was emotional torture for him. When he had attempted to kill himself he never truly thought out the consequences for his actions, he only attempted to escape the emotional hell he was experiencing everyday. 

’Mum.’ He thought, feeling the weight of the painkillers lift off him almost all at once. He tried with all his might to open his eyes, but only made them flutter.

“My baby Lou, come on honey.” His mother begged. Within the next few moments one of Louis’ eyes opened. Pale blue stared into pale blue. His lips moved but his mother silenced him, 

“Hush Boo you need to rest.” 

Now Louis could see again, he looked at the mess his mother had become. Her hair was wild, and her eyes were wild and puffy. His lips trembled.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, in a cracked, raspy voice.

His mother just looked at him, expressionless.

*

Three weeks later

*

“Come in Louis.” The therapist commanded. Louis sighed and left his mother and trudged into the therapist’s study. He gesticulated for Louis to take a seat, while taking a seat himself beside the fire. 

Louis nodded and slipped into a hard, wooden chair, furthest from the therapist. The therapist noted this and folded his arms. Examining the slight, quiet male in front of him, whom appeared, on the outside, although quiet, fine. Yet he sensed something was at unrest within Louis’ mind. He sat silently observing the roaring fire with cobalt-blue eyes. He curved in on himself, his arms wrapped protectively around his waist whilst he watched the flames lick around the logs.

“How do you feel?” The therapist questioned, raising his eyes from his notepad. Louis felt his gaze and shriveled under his intense gaze. He just nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

The therapist shook his head before continuing with his diagnosis. 

“Have you had any recurring thoughts of suicide?” He asked, to which Louis quickly shook his head. His therapist let out a gasp of frustration abruptly, then realised how improper that was. 

“Forgive me, that was most unprofessional.” Louis nodded, he spoke quietly for the first time. 

“It’s fine.” He made brief eye contact, and a flicker of a smile which he attempted to fabricate brushed across his features. 

“Well Louis, although you seem… on the mend, as it were, I still find that you’ve become more withdrawn. This is a very prominent symptom for depression. However I’m not one of those counselors who label everything as depression immediately.” 

Louis’ jaw fell open, ‘D-d-depression.’ He thought, barely able to formulate the thought. The very concept petrified him. Although it made sense to him. 

The taunts.

The insults.

The isolation.

He thought he’d got it all under control, when obviously he hadn’t. He shivered involuntarily before sinking further into his seat, further from the psychologist before him. 

“I think there’s something you’re not telling me, Louis.” He stated, matter-of-factly. Louis let his eyes drop to the floor as he felt the male’s intense scrutiny scan him for any information evident from his body language.

Although there was something the matter, Louis couldn’t say. He could never say again. He’d tried that already and look where that had gotten him.

He just shook his head, and the therapist mirrored his action with a sigh. 

“Louis, I’m going to prescribe you for a two month course of lithium carbonate. It’s a mood stabiliser. It’ll remove any chances of you having severe dips in mood. Although it will prevent any ‘highs’ either. But it’ll only be on a temporary basis. I am nearly positive, with continued psychoanalysis we’ll sort out whatever problem is plaguing you, then you’ll be fast on the road to recovery. I suggest you start keeping a diary of some description so you can document how you feel day to day.” 

Louis bit his lip to prevent himself from showing any emotion, particularly the distress which was ravaging him at that moment.

‘You won’t have trouble with emotions for very long.’ A sadistic little voice in his head offered. He shook it off quickly, before standing up.

“Thank you doctor.” Louis concluded, taking the prescription that the doctor procured from inside his tweed jacket. ‘He had no intention of not prescribing me the medication.’ Louis thought. ‘That’s nice.’ 

The therapist nodded to him and then stood up himself and walked behind Louis to the door, ushering him out with a gentle pat on the pack. 

“Sarah O’Meera? Next please.” The therapist shouted, before closing his door. Louis made his way over to his mother and she got up, pulling her car keys from her coat pocket.

“How did that go chicken?” She asked warily. Louis sighed and handed her the slightly crumpled piece of paper. Louis noticed her eyes widen when she saw, ‘Diagnosis - Clinical Depression’, but her only words were to turn and hug Louis. 

“We’re going to get through this chicken, trust me please.” Louis nodded into her shoulder, silently sighing. 

“I love you, you know?” His mother said quickly, “Never forget that.” 

A lone tear squeezed it’s way out of Louis’ eye.

*

The next couple of days were difficult to bear. Louis had been absent from his school for almost a full month. There was massive speculations and rumours were spreading about him like wildfire. He knew this would be the case, and he completely dreaded returning. His mother had insisted upon keeping him from school for a few more days, simply to make sure he was okay and fit enough to return.

Little did his mother know, she was sending him back to the hell that had caused him to attempt to end his own life. 

The night before he was due to return to school, he tried on his school uniform quickly. He pulled his shirt on over his skinny torso, finding the sleeves falling to just below his elbow, concealing any give-away scars. 

After slipping off his uniform and laying it over the radiator, Louis looked in the mirror, clad only in his boxers, something he’d tried to refrain from doing over the past few months.

‘Shit.’ He thought, his eyes fixed particularly on the amount of weight he’d lost recently. He was never beefy or overweight, but he could now easily count each rib. He also noted his normally tanned complexion had reduced itself to a shadow of what it used to be. He touched his stomach and pinched at himself in disgust, then shook his head, letting his eyes fall from the mirror. He quickly turned off the light and slipped under his bed covers.

Sighing at how cold and alone he felt in his small bed, he rolled over in the blankets, forming a cocoon, then letting his head fall to the side, closing his eyes.

08.00AM

He had awoken almost as if a normal day was dawning. Then Louis recalled all the shit that was weighing him down nowadays. He dreaded school so much it was now becoming a piercing pain to even think about how he’d be perched on top of an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by people who had nothing but disdain for him. 

He picked up his new notebook off the kitchen table, deciding to act upon the doctor’s advice and make a diary of sorts. He got a lengthy lecture from his mother about how this was a new beginning for him, and not to worry. He nodded through it, and took the two lithium tablets his mother gave him and put them in his mouth, but rolled them under his tongue. With that he gave her a tired smile, then picked his car keys off of the table and left.

As he got into his shitty, messy car, he spat the lithium tablets out of his mouth and threw them out the window. 

‘Emotions would be nice.’ He thought sardonically. As he started his car, the engine stuttered a few times, but then emanated a quiet purr, indicating the engine had ignited. 

He wrapped both his hands around the steering wheel and sighed, feeling he was driving himself to his own doom. Tightening one hand over the steering wheel, he leafed about the compartments in the car. Everywhere where there was room, CD’s were stuffed. He eventually found something he wanted, The Sensual World by Kate Bush. 

‘How fucking apt.’ He thought, sliding the CD into the compartment, then quickly pulling out of the driveway.

The drive through the bustling Manchester city was the best part of the journey, yet he longed for countryside, and mountains. He was unsure why. The hustle and bustle depressed him slightly, it reminded him of morbid things like how the world moves on no matter what.

One of his all-time favourite songs, The Fog, came on while he came to a set of traffic lights. It reached his favourite lyrics and he experienced an involuntary shiver down his spine. Before he knew what he was doing, he was singing along with Kate.

“Just put your feet down child,

The water is only waist-high.

I’ll let go of you gently, 

Then you can swim to me.”

He relished his exquisitely odd music taste for a moment, then realised he was at the gates of his school. Greater Manchester Grammar. He could feel it glaring at him. 

“Fuck sake. ” He muttered quietly, but sighed, resigned, as he pulled into the school. 

He got out of his car and locked it, slinging his shitty backpack over his shoulder, carting his notebook in his left hand, whilst the right steadied his bag. He felt eyes were completely focused on him. People weren’t even bothering to avert their eyes, or lower their voices. What did it matter if the little emo kid heard you talking about him?

“Heard he tried to kill himself.” 

“Did you hear? Louis Tomlinson tried to top himself.”

“What a selfish dick.”

“Not surprised the fag did to be honest.”

’You knew this was coming, just deal with it Lou.’ He told himself, pushing open the door to the canteen, where he normally waited for the beginning of first class.

Louis has wrestled with his sexuality in secret for six years. He had an epiphany the year previous to all this business, and then had a big secret on his consciousness.

He had spent that entire year concealing his true identity, he figured that if he came out as gay, he would lose his group of friends, which he existed on the fringes of anyway, but that was besides the point.

It all went downhill when he had told his ‘friend’, feeling that if he didn’t, he was going to explode. His ‘friend’, Laura, seemed trustworthy, in a moment of madness for Louis, he broke down and told her absolutely everything, then realised what an idiotic mistake he had just made. However said, “Don’t worry Lou.” and assured her confidence. However long that lasted. 

He recalled the first day the abuse started.

Zayn Malik, the toughest, sportiest, most popular guy in the entire school started the ball rolling. Louis was sitting by his locker reading a book with both his headphones in. Louis raised his eyes for a moment and saw him with the rest of his posse He quickly looked down at his book again, using his mantra, ‘keep your head down’.

Before he could possibly react, Zayn shoved Louis against his locker. Louis dropped his book, and smashed his head against the blue metal. He swayed, clutching his head, before pulling one headphone out of his ear.

“What is your problem?” Louis asked, as aggressively as his quiet demeanor allowed him. Before he replied, Louis looked around at Zayn’s group, they were all a metre or so away. They were all laughing bar a curly haired one, but Louis imagined he could see traces of a smirk on his face.

“My problem? You’re the one with the fucking problem, fag.”

Louis blinked, before completely shutting down. Looking down and wrapping his arms around his waist. Zayn turned to his friends and laughed,

“Yeah that’s what I thought faggot. This isn’t the end of our little friendship bud’.” Zayn promised, throwing him a smile which Louis missed, as he was looking at his own shoes. He also missed the look of pity the curly haired friend of Zayn had shot him. 

Things were pretty much the same from then on. He became completely isolated from his group of friends. He found a table by himself which he frequented from then on. He continually told himself he would be okay, that if he just survived two more years of this sixth form / hell. 

As he entered the canteen, he took to ignoring several pairs of eyes who seemed to be glued in his direction. ‘Isn’t it considered rude to stare anymore..’ Louis thought pathetically. He sat down at his table and pulled out his Ipod and notebook, quickly setting it on to shuffle, and cranking up the volume full blast, he settled down to Paramore with a relieved sigh. 

He was more himself when he had his music completely engulfing him. It put a stopper on him, preventing those awful, black thoughts that spewed from his head at random moments. 

He pulled a pen from his pocket and started to write on the first pages, in block caps;

MEMOIRS OF A DEPRESSIVE FUCKUP 

He smirked slightly, but sighed at the reality of the statement. He turned to the subsequent page and began to write, in his scrawly handwriting.

today has started awful. i swear to god about thirty people are looking me right now and if i could blush i would, my skin’s too pale but. i sorta wish i had taken the tablets now, at least i wouldn’t have worried about what everyone was saying, then again i’d be an emotionless shell. fucking hell it wouldn’t be so bad if i had some friends or something to talk to. i swear i can feel Laura’s eyes burning a hole in my neck.

 

Louis jumped at the sound of the morning bell, indicating the first lesson was starting in five minutes, much to some peoples’ amusement. He pulled his headphones from his ears, and securely put his notebook into his bag, so no one would see.

He quickly stood up and hastened out the door before the main throng of people got up. He recalled his timetable, double English Literature, then Chemistry. That was fine by him, he wouldn’t have to say anything to anybody, unless, God forbid, the teacher asked him a question.

He was early for his class, but his teacher was in the classroom. She invited him in for a minute before the class started, giving her a slight smile, but internally cursing his earliness. 

“How are you Louis?” She asked, concern flooding her eyes.

“I’m alright..” His voice trailed off, when he didn’t know what to say. Of course he wasn’t alright. Was he ever alright. She nodded and put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. 

“You’ll be okay Louis. If you ever need a chat I’m here.”

He genuinely smiled, touched.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

*

He had actually enjoyed English. No one had asked him anything, everyone only gave him cautious glances out of the corner of their eyes. As he approached the chemistry lab, he sighed, before peeling the door open. 

His chemistry teacher gave him a quick smile and gestured to the other twenty pupils lined up against the back of the class. 

“Line up with your peers Louis, we’re allocating new seats.” He said with such genuine enthusiasm that Louis wondered for a moment what was so great about this prospective, new seating arrangement.

His old seat was perfect, he was right at the front and he sat alone. No interaction or insults could be have been aimed towards him.

As his name was nearly last in the alphabet,he was one of the last to be seated. He just waited, resigned, for his name to be called. 

Just before his name was called, Dr. Mulhern called another name.

“Styles.” He gestured to an empty two seater desk at the back of the class. Lifting his eyes from his feet momentarily he noticed that the curly haired male who was friends with Zayn get up from his perch on the back bench, and take a seat at the very back.

‘Christ.’ He thought, panicked at the prospect of being seated beside an accomplice to Zayn.

‘Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.’ He thought over and over. He saw the curly haired guy give him a quick appraisal, then turn away. 

”Tomlinson.” He said, gesturing to the seat beside Zayn’s friend. ‘FOR FUCK’S SAKE’ he screamed internally. He came up to the table and Harry looked at him for another moment emotionlessly, then pulled his chemistry book out.

Louis slid onto his stool and pulled his own chemistry book out of his bag, and opened the very front page, cursing internally once more when he had missed a full month of notes and he’d most likely have to ask someone to give him theirs to catch up, so began to doodle dead trees onto the page.

About halfway through the chemistry class, the teacher’s phone rang, and he stepped outside the class to take his call. Louis saw from the corner of his eye that Zayn’s friend was staring straight at him. 

He turned to look at him, expecting him to look away, but he didn’t. In the second or so Louis examined him, he realised how breathtakingly beautiful he was. He unconsciously turned his attention to his lips. Zayn’s friend’s mouth twisted, one side of his face curling upwards in the most god-like smile Louis had witnessed. His lips opened.

“I’m Harry.”


	2. Friendship Forged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again guys, well this is actually progressing to my liking. Hopefully some of you people like it too. I tried my best to make this as good as possible so people would enjoy it. I included a few songs which I thought were pretty suiting at certain points, so I included links, so just click on the artist and it’ll link you to the song. Please enjoy it and give me any feedback, suggestions or reviews in my ask box please! Thank you. <3

Harry regarded his lab partner before him, who had quickly dropped his gaze back to his pristine Chemistry notebook. Harry’s thick eyebrows furrowed at the apparent shyness Louis displayed, he didn’t imagine he, himself was intimidating. His eyebrows remained slightly raised, but he awkwardly turned back around in his seat to face the front.

“Yeah I know. I’m Louis.” Louis mumbled quietly, not raising his eyes from his book. Harry jumped a bit at the quiet voice, almost not able to hear him. He wondered why his voice was so quiet and so… fragile. 

”Um.. Have we talked before?” Harry wondered, musing how he knew Harry’s name. Louis only nods quickly in response and raises his right hand against his cheek, his index and middle finger twined around his hair, effectively ending the conversation. The teacher re-entered the classroom and the class commenced. Another half-hour through the class, their chemistry teacher is dictating notes on Organic Chemistry.

”This topic involves the study of carbon-based compounds, except carbonates and hydrogen carbonates.” Harry’s attention had completely drained at this point, he was picturing the triple Music lesson he had after their break period, and longed for his guitar. He grumbled something to himself about the pointlessness of chemistry, then tried to refocus on the teacher’s lecture. He blanked out for what seemed like a split second as his attention finally sapped. 

‘Shit.’ He thought, looking at the half page of notes Louis had already taken down. He muttered a quiet expletive to himself, and Louis jumped at the unexpected sound. Harry’s eyebrows raised at this. He considered what he was going to say before he did, not wanting to come across odd.

“Are- Are you okay mate?” He whispered, not wanting to draw the teacher’s attention. Louis looked to him for the first time since Harry had introduced himself and nodded. Harry scrutinised him for a moment, not being able to take in what he looked like properly until now. His dark brown hair fell in a fringe to his left side, which he constantly had push out of his eye. His lips formed an attractive bow; yet his lips were quite thin. 

He had nice facial structure, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, but he was so… slight. His school uniform clung to his body snugly, not too tight, yet not baggy. He was only a head or so smaller than Harry, but his body language told Harry he was ready to flee at the smallest noise, and Harry wondered why. He had the oddest urge to protect him from whatever he was afraid of.

His most striking feature was his deep blue eyes, which got deeper in the sun light. He noticed this when Louis turned to face Harry, and the sun from the window behind them shone straight into his eyes, allowing them to glow.

Louis quickly looked away, returning to his immaculate notes, which completely dictated all the notes the teacher had given them. A moment later a stricken teacher ran into their lab, 

“Dr., there’s been a chemical spill in the next lab.” She said, her voice full of stress, without further instruction, Dr. Mulhern sped from the class. Harry took the time to pull his Iphone from his jean pocket.

He had a text from a girl in the year below, Stephanie, a friend of his sister’s who flirted with him constantly, despite Harry shooting down her advances. He opened the text and sighed. 

“Hey Harry. xx” He rolled his eyes and considered not replying, but then decided he wouldn’t like it if someone didn’t reply to him.

“Hello there.” He replied dryly so to hopefully crash the conversation. He gave a sideways glance to Louis and noticed him writing in a black, spiral-bound notebook.

Not wanting to be nosy, he looked around the class and simply noticed, like him, the majority of class were relishing the break from severely difficult chemistry.

He noticed from the corner of his eye Louis’ head perk up slightly and turn towards him, maybe subtly trying to see if Harry was trying to see what he was doing. Harry was shocked to hear his gentle voice again however.

“Aren’t you friends with-” His voice got so quiet that Harry didn’t hear who’s name he had uttered. His thick eyebrows squeezed together trying to pick out what he had said, but it was completely inaudible.

“Who?” 

“Aren’t you friends with Zayn Malik?” He muttered, barely a whisper. Harry’s eyes widened. He remembers Louis now. He recognised the fear present in his eyes when Zayn had assaulted him, it remained there still. He was nearly sure this was where the lack of confidence he seemed to exhibit. 

This all had happened around half a year ago he estimated, wondering how much damage taunts and abuse could wreck on a vulnerable person.

‘Shittttttttttt.’ He thought to himself, clenching his right fist against his leg so Louis wouldn’t see. He felt like the worst person in the entire world in that moment, but quickly replied with the truth.

“Not any more. I haven’t been for a long time.” 

Harry thinks he hears Louis choke out a ‘Why?’, but isn’t sure. 

“Well he- I- I had some issues, and I couldn’t be friends with him anymore.” Harry sighed, and turned to Louis, who seemed a tad more relaxed, about to say something about him never speaking up when Zayn had went for Louis, how Louis had been as guilty as Zayn by being a bystander, he wanted to say how sorry he was.

The teacher stormed into the classroom, cutting short Harry’s window of opportunity, with an angered expression on his face.

“First years.” He muttered angrily to himself, loudly enough so the class could hear. The double period was nearly over, yet they returned to the teacher’s lecture, moving onto Fractional Distillation.

Harry uncontendedly sighed and resignedly picked up his pen again, and began to continue transcribing the lecture. 

Harry was in the middle of writing ‘hydrocarbons’ when his pen ran out. Being unorganised as he was, he didn’t have any spares, and scribbled furiously on the page, trying to bring some ink back into the pen. 

Louis noticed this and fished about in his pocket and produced a blue pen, not saying anything, yet he extended his arm to Harry. 

Harry blushed a bit and went to take the pen, whilst looking up at the teacher who was still talking.

‘He’s so kind, not that I deserve this.’ 

Carelessly, he grabbed the pen, but in the same motion his hand came on top of Louis. He fumbled for a minute, embarrassed by the contact, during which he dropped the pen, sighing as it fell from sight under the table.

After he himself had recovered from the brief contact, Louis released a minuscule smile at the clumsiness, which he found ridiculously adorable. Harry saw Louis shake his head and wash the smile from his face. The notion saddened him, he really wanted to know what was plaguing the poor guy, but he barely knew him. It seemed that he… wasn’t allowing himself to ‘feel’.

He could tell from the unemotional looks he had received during the class, that Louis definitely remembered the encounter with Zayn. All these feelings for someone he didn’t know was weirding him out slightly, but he passed it off as extreme guilt. 

He shifted his weight on the stool and moved his long legs from the bar suspended across the bottom of the table, to the linoleum floor, his shoes squeaking against the shiny floor.

The sound made Louis’ head prick up, and he paused with his note-taking for a moment, looking over to Harry worriedly for a second, hoping he wouldn’t notice, then returning to his notes.

‘He’s like a scared, little rabbit, caught in the headlights’ Harry thought, recalling how wide his eyes had become. How wide his eyes were. How he had silently called out for any kind of help and yet Harry ignored the distress call.

Despite his own angst, he had heard wild rumours about Louis, ones which he didn’t know were true or not. Yet he was genuine, he openly condemned gossip-mongerers, he was looking at the after-effects of gossip right in front of him.

The bell for break rang promptly, sending it’s shrill alarm all through the school, indicating the beginning of their break period. The teacher dismissed the class, then picked up his briefcase and leaving the class to depart themselves.

Harry got up from his stool and stretched, the joints in his back popping due to sitting in the same position for the past hour, moaning quietly at the combined pain and pleasure that came with easing the tension in his back. He threw his Chem books into his bag in one deft movement, then slung his bag over his shoulders, ready to leave. 

At this point most of the class had left the room, and Harry turned to see if Louis wanted him to walk with him to the canteen, when he noticed Louis was still sitting on the stool, and choosing a song on his Ipod, his books remained open on the table. Harry sighed quietly and turned on his heels, saying he’d see him on Wednesday for their next Chem lesson, not sure if he heard or not. Maybe that was the intention of the headphones. 

As Harry opened the door, he jumped slightly when Louis was right behind him. Louis flinched himself, before a mouthing a quiet, ‘Sorry.’ Harry held the door open while Louis slipped out and walked out, heading towards the courtyard, not the canteen. The courtyard was absolutely abandoned, no people ever went there. Ever.

Harry began to wonder if Louis really was okay. He began to see slight sense in the rumours surrounding him, the fact that Harry was even considering rumours to be true was making him ill, yet he worried for the poor guy. He realised now that he was the kid who constantly got gay hate thrown at him practically everyday.

The fact that he had done absolutely nothing for the harmless, little thing made him genuinely sick to his stomach. Now he looked at the aftermath. Someone who seemed petrified of every single noise, expecting it to be hatred. Who deserved to live like that?

He sighed quietly, shaking his head. Some of his curls falling in the way of his vision. He watched as Louis walked off silently, and turned a corner. Harry wanted to walk after him and comfort him, and tell him everything would be okay, but Louis would hardly want to associate with him after the Zayn incident. Clenching his fists inside his pockets, he walked off in the direction of the canteen.

*

Louis sat down on the hard, concrete bench with a sigh, wondering how spiteful some higher power was towards him. He was seated beside a friend of Zayn’s. ‘although not any more.’ A quiet voice reminded him. It’s correctness irritated him, he shooed it away before it could say anymore.

‘Harry.’ He thought to himself. He seemed like a sort of person he would have wanted to be friends with before all the shit in his life had interfered. Oddly enough, Louis noted that Harry was asking if he was okay, even though he didn’t know him in the slightest, either an act of pure, genuine niceness, or nosiness. 

Louis was more inclined to lean towards the first. He couldn’t picture the little baby-faced boy mean him harm. At least he couldn’t imagine it. He hadn’t pictured Laura ever repeating to anyone what he’d told her, yet she did. 

This new-found cynicism scared him slightly, yet he figured it would be better to be realistic than trying to find something to love in everyone, like he had used to. 

He was distracted by remembering the little dimples that formed on either side of his mouth when he smiled. His liquid-green eyes. His thick, curly, brown hair. 

‘What. The. Fuck?’ He questioned, snapping out of his little daydream. ‘I don’t think like that anymore.’ He commanded himself. Willing it to be. Why should he find someone beautiful who never will or would find him beautiful.

He glanced to his wristwatch quickly, realising he had only five minutes before break ended and Biology began. He picked himself up from his perch, and massaged his dead backside, whimpering slightly and the pins and needles. 

The song he was listening to ended, and his Ipod shuffled quickly, and Coldplay began to play, not helping Louis’ shitty mood. He shrugged and hurried to his lockers, trying to avoid eye-contact.

As he inserted his locker key into the lock, he felt the headphone in his right ear removed gently, and he whirled around. A girl in his year who’s name he had forgotten was at his side. She had light brown eyes, and short, curled, brown hair, falling just past her shoulders. She gave him a kind smile. 

”Hi, Louis?” She asked, in a quiet little voice. He attempted to return the smile, but fell short, only reciprocating with one corner of his mouth curling upwards. 

“Yeah hey, I know this is so out of the blue and awkward, but.. um.. Well I’m Claire, and I know how … much shit you get, and if you need a chat I’m here and stuff.” 

“You’re free to sit with us at lunch too if you want?” She continued with another smile. Louis’ heart swelled at the thought. He hadn’t been this touched in a long time. 

“Um, that’s so nice, I mean, you don’t even know me. I appreciate it.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. 

“I’m sure I’ll take you up on that sometime.” He murmured, giving her a light smile before starting to turn back to his locker, unlocking it, and pulling his biology book out. To his surprise Claire was still by his side when he turned around. 

”I know you’re probably not going to Louis, but just please, please know I’m here for you. I know this seems weird but my sister went through the same sort of thing and she had no one. I can’t see that happen again.” Louis blanched, wondering if she was insinuating she knew exactly what was wrong with Louis. 

“You live out near the abandoned mill don’t you? Greenworth Avenue?”

“Yeah. Why?” He murmured, locking his locker simultaneously. He was actually enjoying talking to someone his own age for once. It was nice. He shouldn’t have had to go without this just because he was gay, should he?

“Well I live like, literally five minutes away. I used to see you about all the time but you never noticed me. We could go a walk in the fields or something and just talk? I wouldn’t mind getting out more.” 

Louis blinked, wondering if she was joking with him or not. 

“Are you being serious?” Louis asked quietly, whilst realising he only had a minute before the beginning of biology. 

Claire froze up a bit, her hands twining in front of her. 

“Oh well, um if you don’t want to that’s fine.” She laughed nervously, before taking a half step backward. 

“No, no, no I just didn’t know if you genuinely wanted to or it was some joke.. Yeah I’d love to.” He paused for a second then tacked on, “Thanks Claire, it means a lot. A hell of a lot.” Claire threw a huge smile at Louis, her eyes crinkling at the sides. She jumped up and down a bit at his acceptance, before promising she’d call over sometime during the weekend if he wanted, then ran off to her Business Studies class. 

For the first time in a long time, Louis felt not that alone. He didn’t realise for a moment that a gentle smile was spreading slowly across his face, beginning at the corners of his lips, then beginning to spread. This was the second smile he had experienced today, the first at Harry dropping his pen and falling over himself. The lack of the dark thoughts that so often poisoned his mind was comforting, but he knew they would relapse sooner or later.

As he made his way to Biology, he noticed Harry at the opposite end of the hallway, entering the music block of the school. Harry raised his head towards Louis just as Louis had dipped his head, anticipating Harry regarding him, and pushed open the Bio lab. 

Louis’ lesson progressed uneventfully. He kept exact notes on the topic they were learning, Applied Genetics. In the last twenty minutes of the class, they had been given a test to do, based on the information they had covered that day. 

Louis was sitting with ten minutes to spare when Ms. Graham looked up from her notes. 

“Are you finished up Louis?” she asked, attracting the attention of most of the class, which earned him some titters and eye-rolls Louis shrank slightly under the attention but nodded. 

“Do me a favour and go to the main office and find out where Harry Styles is, his bio coursework wasn’t on my desk this morning and I’m wondering. Please.” Louis was internally spitting every curse he could at the kind, lumpy biology teacher, but assented, and got up from his stool, leaving the classroom quickly, cursing his teacher to the darkest depths of the ocean.

He began to trudge slowly towards the music classes, not even needing to find out from the office what Harry’s class was. He looked down to the end of the corridor, seeing the music classes. He felt he was observing his own demise. He dragged his feet along the ground, then felt childish and stopped. He wondered what an odd specimen this boy was, that he had actually tried to know Louis. No one had tried before, and then Claire… He still was disbelieving that any of it had occurred Why would the popular, beautiful, social kids talk to the outcast?

He found himself outside the music classroom too quickly. He looked up at the door and looked up at it. It was tall, and made of a deep, dark wood. A plaque was hung across the door. 

‘If music be the words of peace, play on.’ Probably a quote made up by the teacher herself. He stood for another second and thought about just running back to Biology and telling Ms. Graham that he wasn’t there, but eventually just resigned to the fact that he was a boring, bland, scaredy-cat conformist. 

He knocked twice before entering, hoping the class was in the middle of a practical lesson, so he wouldn’t be greeted with complete silence. Yet his worst fears were confirmed when no clashing noises greeted him from within the class. The entire class was in silence, taking notes on a particular musical which was playing from the large stereo.

‘Christ.’ He thought, when literally every head turned his way, yet he made a good job of completely ignoring the largest, curly, brown-haired head which was turned in his direction. 

The teacher, Mrs. McBreigh paused the music and smiled at Louis, gesturing for him to gesture whatever message he had come to deliver. 

He fumbled with his words in his head for a second. At this point some people lost interest and turned back to their books and notes, using the interruption Louis provided as an opportunity to engage in their own chatter. 

“Um. Ms. Graham wants to talk to Harry Styles about his coursework?” Louis murmured, his voice barely reaching the heavily pregnant woman’s ears. She nodded to herself and picked up a couple of booklets from her desk and walked around to Harry’s desk. 

“Whenever you get the chance, go over all the technical stuff and annotate the score, Harry.” She said quickly, then gesturing towards the door. Louis took this as his head start back to Biology, and turns on his heels, taking quick, brisk steps back to Biology. 

He’s only halfway back to Biology when he realises how much longer Harry’s legs are to his own. With his long strides, Harry is beside Louis effortlessly, with still a good fifteen metres to the Bio classroom.

Louis bristled a bit, trying to hide his surprise. 

“Am I in trouble?” Harry asked, a childish grin spreading across his face. Louis wondered, yet again, why this guy insisted on wishing to involve himself with him. He shrugged mentally, deciding it was Harry’s funeral. 

“I’m really not sure,” Louis murmured, scratching his left arm, focusing his eyes on his arm rather than Harry. “She didn’t sound pissed.” 

Harry let out a dramatic sigh of relief, and Louis smiled. An extremely odd reaction, yet he did. Harry’s childish goofiness, and over-exaggerated actions just made Louis smile. A tiny bit from the Bio door, Harry tapped Louis on the shoulder heavily, hoping to get his attention for a minute. 

Louis let out a little squeak, cringing at the wound which was healing on his left arm. His last injury he had promised himself, yet it hadn’t healed all the way yet. 

Louis’ eyes began to water as his tried to conceal the pain, yet a quiet moan came through his lips as his skin screamed in protest. 

*

Harry blinked and realised he had hurt Louis, but he had no idea how. He had lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Not heavily or anything. He pulled his hand back and heard Louis’ sharp intake of breath.

He was trying to conceal his pain when he turned around to Harry. His cobalt-blue eyes focused on Harry’s grass-green, watering slightly. 

“Yeah Harry?” He asked, surprisingly able to keep his voice steady. Harry assumed his voice would have broken judging by how much it seemed that he had been hurt.

“Um, well uh, I’m staying in after school today to do music composition but- uh- are you staying in for anything?” 

Louis raised his eyebrows a little bit, wondering what Harry’s ulterior motive was for this.

”Uh, I’m staying in for English,” He murmured, “there’s something she’s helping me with.” He added hastily, with a nervous laugh. Harry’s brow furrowed, he began to have an internal debate on whether or not to ask Louis what he planned to. Then he observed a glaze spread over Louis’ eyes, the soft blue seemed to harden. He sighed inwardly at Louis. He didn’t want to open up to him at all. 

‘To be fair, he has a reason.’ A quiet voice whispered in his head. He decided to carry on with what he was going to say, ‘fuck it’ he thought.

”Yeah so um, I didn’t bring in my motorcycle today and I’m wondering if you’d want to walk to the bus depot with me?” He asked with a hopeful smile, trying to utmost best to try and let Louis know that he’s trying to make amends for the locker incident.

“Uh, that sounds nice Harry but I have my car with me today.” Louis muttered, wringing his hands together in front of him. 

Harry nodded to himself and looked to his shoes a bit, looking slightly dejected, allowing his brown curls to fall in his eyes. 

*

Louis’ heart sunk a bit at the tall, beautiful, clumsy boy in front of him. No matter what he was like now, he still stuck to his old mantra of, ‘let yourself suffer before others’. 

“Well I could drive you there?” Louis suggested quietly, whilst taking a step backward as Harry took one forward. Harry’s head whipped up, and his thick head of curls tumbled about his face. He smiled slowly and nodded. 

“Thanks Louis! I’ll meet you by… um-“

“The big oak tree. My car is parked near there.” Louis murmured, resignedly allowing himself to return Harry’s ear-to-ear grin with a slight smile of his own.

Harry’s grin remained stitched to his features, both dimples at either side of face highlighted in the bright sunlight radiating from the opposite window. Louis looked away before he got too distracted by the Adonis before him. 

“See you at half four, Lou.” Harry mumbled, before quickly turning and entering the biology lab. Louis sighed quietly and wondered when Harry was going to turn around and say, 

“Fuck off faggot.” It wasn’t a possibility in Louis’ mind.

It was an inevitability.

Louis thought about the classroom full of his peers, and now Harry. He couldn’t bear walking into the classroom once again, the tidal waves of embarrassment and paranoia that had been smashing against him all day had worn him down. 

He decided, as he had all his work done, he would forgo the remaining six minutes of class and go for a walk. The corridors would be free of students. Before he knew where or why he was going, he began retracing his steps back to the music block of the school. 

There was two classrooms at either side of the music corridor, but four practice rooms interspersed between the two classes, all which were abandoned. 

Unsure as to why he was doing this, he opened Harry’s classes’ music room, and entered in the simple, square room; a grand piano stood in the corner of the room, and a large rack for instruments stood opposite. There was a full wall opposite the door made of glass, but every other blank space on the walls was covered in photos of the class. 

Louis approached the wall of photos and noticed Harry was present in many of the photos. Practically in the very centre of all the photos, was Harry sitting by himself, it looked as if he was on a stage. A purply-blue lighting had cast his features into the same hue. He had a semi-acoustic guitar strapped around him and he was singing into a microphone.

In nearly every photo, Harry had that guitar slung around his broad, muscular shoulders. The guitar was made of a deep grained wood; he held it the same way a mother held her baby. He seemed so passionate about his music. 

Just like Louis used to be. 

Harry seemed so popular, so nice, so caring. He looked at all the photos of him with his class, noticing the majority of them were him and females, and it looked like they were in a bar of some description, and he sighed quietly, noting one was probably his girlfriend.

He sighed and noticed he only had a minute left before lunch, and he hastened out of the practice room before people could start filtering out of classes. He walked with his usual brisk paces back to Biology, and apologised to his teacher, saying he had felt sick. 

She accepted this and dismissed the class just as the bell rang for lunch. He sighed with relief when he realised Harry had returned to his music class, not making it necessary for any social contact until half four. While everyone else was leaving, Louis stuck both his headphones into his ears, and Bird Song Intro began to play through the speakers, relaxing him slightly, and he slowly made his way to lunch, dreading every minute.

*

Half four came far to quickly. Louis thanked his teacher for the chat they had been having over the past hour. From the second Louis had walked in, she had a cup of tea and a scone laid out for him, and invited him to talk about whatever was on his mind. 

‘She is a godsend.’ Louis thought to himself, turning from the classroom and making his way towards his car. He was slightly embarrassed at the messiness of his car, not to mention that it was an awful, old, nearly redundant car.

As he reached the long, twisting oak tree, Louis looked about for Harry, sighing when he didn’t spy him anywhere. He was about to plug both his headphones back in again when he heard a slight shuffling from the opposite side of the tree. He walked around it slightly and found Harry sitting against the tree. He had large over-the-top headphones, and was reading a book. 

Louis moved around a bit to catch Harry’s attention, he felt so idiotic but shrugged off the fact as barely anyone was still in school. Harry’s eyes widened and turned from his book to Louis, a crystalline tear streaking down his face, although he quickly wiped it away. 

Harry pulled his headphones off and threw a weak smile, and pushed himself off the ground, taking his book and Ipod with him.

“Hi.” Harry said, his green eyes still had a watery film over the top, yet someone wouldn’t have assumed unless they had known he was actually crying. 

“You okay?” Louis murmured, inwardly sighing at the irony of the role reversal. Harry just nodded and pointed to the book with his other hand.

“I get really into books sorry, I’m not this girly all the time.” Louis didn’t react, because he could relate, but he didn’t want to open up to Harry. 

”What’s the book?” Louis asked tentatively, his eyes focusing on the obscured title. 

“Uh- It’s called the Lovely Bones, it’s really sad. It’s about a kid who gets murdered and she is able to see how her death affects her family after, it’s awful.” Harry sighed, but moved towards the car.

Louis nodded and awkwardly walked around to the other side of the car and unlocked it. Louis got into the driver’s seat, and reached across to the passenger seat to unlock it so Harry could get in. Harry carefully lowered himself into the car, having to adjust the seat due to his excessively long legs.

”Yeah I have a shit car, what of it?” Louis muttered conspiratorially a shade of his former humour poking through. Harry chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, before scrutinising the mountains of CD’s all around the car.

“I absolutely love your music taste.” Harry muttered a minute or so later, still leafing through all the CD’s. Louis smiled a bit. His music was the only thing he allowed himself to take pride in. 

“Thanks mate.” Louis whispered, stopping at traffic lights. He sighed quietly realising they were only a minute or so from the depot. 

Harry went to put on an Evanescence CD, but Louis stopped him. 

“You touch my stereo, I break you.” Louis said, full volume. Harry blinked in surprise he had never witnessed Louis’ full voice before, it had only ever been whispers and murmurs. He could appreciate the heartiness and bounciness of his voice proper, if only for a split second. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, putting his hands up. Louis smiled then pulled up alongside the bus depot. Harry looked at Louis appreciatively and mumbled an awkward thanks, before turning to get out. 

“Oi, next time you owe me petrol money, you little shit.” Louis shouted as he opened the door, shocking both himself and Harry. He hadn’t raised his voice, jokingly or not for a long time. 

Harry burst out laughing, throwing his head back and clutching at his chest. He got out of the car breathlessly and waved and smiled, then shut the door, walking into the depot to get his bus. The sudden surge of Louis’ old character and charisma scared him, but it couldn’t be a bad thing?

Louis drove home slowly, relishing the feeling of being alone for the first time all day besides break. His music filled the car compartment, the most calming part of the day for him. He approached his home too soon, he was a mere thirty seconds from his home when he saw Claire walking with a friend along the left hand side of the road with a pint of milk in each hand.

Claire looked up and recognised Louis to late to wave, but caught Louis’ smile.

*

That night, at opposite ends of the city, Harry and Louis lay awake, considering each other, and the friendship they had seemingly forged over the course of a day. Louis mused over the completely evident, pure, genuine nature that Harry exhibited. He didn’t want to pollute Harry’s purity with his own darkness. ‘It couldn’t possibly be an act.’ He thought to himself, yet the seeds of doubt had been sown long ago about every single person, how he could only rely on himself, how he would only have himself, and how no one would ever be there for him, but himself. He didn’t know if he would be able to rip the seeds from the soil if they had already taken root. 

But he had to try.


	3. Seeing Stars

He should have seen it coming. The darkness that he had forgotten for the past twelve hours came splashing around him as quickly as they had left, like the low tide coming in in a split second, and he regretted letting his guard down. He hugely regretted coming out of his shell, as he was going to pay for it now.

Louis lay awake on top of his small, single bed. Shivering on top of the covers. He knew better than to try and sleep, then the nightmares would come. It was surprising how in one day, he had just… forgotten what life was really like. He allowed himself to become sucked up in normality. He wouldn’t describe the day as happy, but… content.

He felt the darkness that he had suppressed all through the day begin to rear its head. It began in his stomach, tying knots repeatedly, then moved upwards. His throat clenched painfully, a reaction to him involuntarily biting down on his lips, hard enough to draw blood. 

Then it reached his mind. This… sickness. Subtle whispers began whispering in his mind.   
‘You don’t deserve to be happy.’   
‘You never will be happy.’   
‘Everything you know is a lie.’  
Louis had become almost used to the barrage at this point. His mind, his seriously fucked up mind, was telling him how unworthy of happiness he was. It agreed with everything everyone from school had told him, how they spoke the truth. 

The voice never was plain in Louis’ mind, it always remained safely on the peripherary, whispering little things into his ear at will, tearing any form of protection he had constructed in mere moments, whilst never being the focus of Louis’ mind.  
Yet in his darkest moments, he had always found something. Something which had pulled him from the murky depths from his mind before he had drowned. Up until now he had always pictured his mother and sister. Their kind eyes, words and touches. The pure image of their love had dulled somewhat, it didn’t fight off the darkness anymore.

He tried to picture something else, something stronger. The same thing that had cast it’s light into the furthest recesses of his mind, illuminating all, and chasing the darkness out.  
Yet he couldn’t picture what his mind was telling him.   
‘No.’ He thought to himself. He refused to rely on another person. He had fallen down that trap once, and he never intended to repeat tragedy once more.

It took him a solid hour, tossing and turning in his bed, before he tamed the malevolent voice in his head. He was surprised it had receded so quickly. He had only considered a colour. A thick, pure green. Almost emerald-like. He couldn’t relate the colour to anything, it simply reminded him of innocence and… happiness. An abstract feeling for him.  
He looked over to his clock and sighed at it. 

“Three in the morning.” He muttered, groaning at the thought of awakening the following morning, yet he knew regardless that he wouldn’t actually sleep. He’d toss and turn for an hour, then wake up screaming, like every night.   
His nightmares were always so vivid, yet they were never traditionally scary, no monsters, no ghouls; his dreams consisted more of silence, complete, dead silence. Particularly the local train station, which, in his dream, was always bustling with people, yet it was bone-chillingly silent, so much so that the silence made Louis’ ear-drums feel like they were going to burst. 

He kicked his duvet off and pulled himself into a sitting position, deciding if he should stay awake the entire night, or try and scavenge a few hours sleep. He shrugged, wondering what the point of trying to sleep for three or four hours when he probably wouldn’t get anything out of it.   
He got off his bed and looked around, considering what he should do to occupy himself. 

His room was fairly small, only a couple of meters by a couple of meters. His small bed lay in the far corner, furthest from the door, tucked into a slight alcove in the wall. It was slightly bigger than a child’s bed, but he wasn’t particularly tall. He got by with it, plus he couldn’t have more monetary problems for his mother to deal with on his conscience.   
Besides his bed, the rest of the room was sparsely decorated, with a small wooden desk opposite his bed, littered with books and pens, and to the right of that, in front of the window, was a large painting easel. The only thing in Louis’ room which appeared like it cost a great deal of money. 

He approached his easel with a sense of pride, rubbing his hand over the familiar wood.   
“Would I get something done in two hours?” He whispered to himself, sizing up what he was thinking about doing. He muttered a quiet, “I don’t care.” before picking up a blank canvas from underneath his desk, and fixing it into place onto the easel with ease. He sighed contentedly when he noted the voice in his head had still not resurfaced.  
He spent fifteen minutes mixing colours and drawing up little details on the board, whistling lightly. The only times when he was truly at ease was when he was painting or listening to music. He was an odd soul. 

He picked his Ipod off of the desk and grumbled at the low battery, before scrolling through his several playlists. He had a few particularly for painting, which inspired him in different ways. He clicked onto the ‘Instrumental’ playlist and clicked shuffle, sighing as music began to trickle through the headphones.  
He picked his paint palette off the desk and began to put bits of each colour he had made onto it, sampling each one on his wrist before nodding with satisfaction.   
Before he knew it, he was painting. He lost himself in the colour and the transition from imagination to reality. He took such time ensuring that every single point on the painting was correct. This painstaking detail took him deep into the night, yet he didn’t mind. He was transcribing his thoughts, often dark, thorny, twisted thoughts, onto paper.  
Tonight however, he seemed to have suppressed the darkness. He was unsure how, but thought back to that simple shade of green which had apparently cast his darkness into the furthest recesses of his mind, and chained them. He laboured to recreate the same luminescent green for his painting.

He looked at his clock and sighed, noting it was now four o’clock. Disregarding this, he took a step back and examined his work. It depicted a lone female sitting on the edge of a low bridge, her bare feet treading the water, close to some water lilies, sending ripples along the lake. Her eyes were turned from the viewer, and was focused on the still, pure blue water, while her hands were clenched around the pure green grass around her. That same exact shade of green which brought him such comfort. Although it wasn’t his usual work, it was still sad. His artwork was always so sad.   
He left it on the easel, hoping it would dry before he had to leave in the morning, so he could hide it away so his mother wouldn’t see. If any of his family saw any of his artwork he would be admitted into a psychiatric ward, and he nearly had been a month back.

He abandoned his painting materials on his easel and prayed for the piece to be dry by morning. His eyes sagged, and he wobbled a bit. With his eyes closed he clambered into bed, stripped and quickly pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms so he wouldn’t have to look at himself, and he fumbled around on the right side of his bed for the light switch. A light sigh of relief whistled between his lips when he found it, and his exhausted eyes rejoiced in the complete darkness. He curled in on himself, and brought his legs up to his chest, the normal way he slept.

He painfully thought of having to wake up in three hours, but he quickly stopped that thought in its tracks, and snuggled further into his cocoon, happy with the beautiful, if haunting painting he had completed, and how normal his day had went today, yet he knew not to take comfort in that. These good things wouldn’t last. Did they ever?   
He drifted off to sleep with that same, familiar shade of green on his mind.

*

When he unwillingly dragged himself from unconsciousness, he knew he had slept for too long. He knew he was almost definitely late for school. When this thought properly registered in his head, he sprang upwards from his cocoon of blankets and quilts.   
‘Fucking hell!’ He thought, looking at his watch which he had forgotten to take off before he fell asleep. It read ten o’clock in the morning, he was a full hour late for school, plus it took a half hour at the least to get to his school. He involuntarily sank back into the pillows and blew out a massive sigh.   
The scary thing was that this seemed like such a normal scenario, a boy wakes up in his messy room and realises he’s late for school. The normality scared him. Almost always, Louis woke up early in the morning, and was ready hours before school, even if he only had an hour or so sleep the night before. 

Louis’ head raised up from his pillows once more to focus on the light painfully streaming in his window when he noticed the figure standing beside his art easel.  
“JESUS!” He exclaimed at his mother, who jumped at Louis’ shout.   
“Louis!” His mother gasped, “I didn’t know you were awake, you scared the life out of me!” She chided gently. Louis nodded to himself; his heart beginning to descend back to a regular rhythm.   
“Why didn’t you wake me up for school?” He mumbled, rubbing remnants of sleep out of his eyes slowly, trying not to irritate his sensitive eyes, which were still focusing to the bright sunlight. 

“You seemed so peaceful, plus you had massive bags under your eyes, I could tell you hadn’t slept long. I rang into the school, they just think you have an appointment, so you can go in late.” She smiled, crinkles appearing at the edges of her eyes; a smile which Louis had inherited.   
“Plus, I see you’ve been busy.” His mother said, gesturing to the fully dried artwork against his easel, which seemed even more beautiful in the full sunlight. The colours seemed alive, like one could look through it and experience a different world.  
‘Shit. I didn’t mean for her to see that.’ He grumbled. He hated anyone seeing his artwork, due to the fact that it was always sad. 

“It’s so beautiful Louis… it’s haunting.” She stated in wonder, going to touch details on the painting but stopping herself. Louis flushed and pulled himself out of bed, hoping to manouevre into the bathroom before his mother could say anything more, however his mother grabbed his by the shoulder, sending his arm into protest due to the pain of his injury. He kept on a stony expression as his mother tugged him into a gentle hug.  
“I got home from my shift late last night, the hospital was really busy. They needed every single nurse and I was only back at ten, I didn’t see you chicken I’m sorry.” She murmured, tightening the hug for a moment, which caused Louis to flinch whilst his mother could not see.  
“Did school go okay?” She whispered, loosening her grip slightly and she felt Louis wiggle, yet she was not aware it was due to pain. Louis mumbled an almost inaudible ‘yeah’ and plastered on a smile, which he hoped would convince his mother.

 

She released him and sighed as he immediately took a step back.   
“Just head into school on the bus today chick; they come every half hour down at the shop. I don’t want you driving when you’re sleepy.” She continued; Louis went to protest but then stopped. Arguing was something that disrupted the momentary bouts of peace in his head.   
Noticing this, his mother planted a kiss on his forehead and left quickly, saying no more. Louis sighed and rounded up his school books and threw them into his bag quickly, trying hard to ignore the painting that was so blatant in his peripherary. 

He placed his packed bag on top of his bed, then ran into the bathroom quickly to get a shower.  
He turned the shower on but waited outside for a moment, waiting for the freezing cold water to warm up a fraction. As he waited for the water to warm, he caught a glance of himself in the floor-length mirror. His silky, brown hair lay disheveled atop his head from sleep, and his bright blue eyes had purple bruises underlining them. He sucked in a breath when he looked at his naked body in the mirror. His upper arms made him sick. 

The scars stopped just above his elbow, and went the entire way up his arm until his shoulder. He had thought they were fading slightly. Yet his greatest shame were more apparent than ever. The fact that he was naturally tan didn’t help to disguise the blatant, angry, pink lines which decorated his arms. He tore his gaze away from the mirror, willing himself to think no more of his horrid body. He slipped into the shower and faced away from the mirror, into the wall, scalding himself in the boiling water, anything to not look at himself.

The hot water calmed him down a degree. His showers always did. They normally brought him back from the horrors that were his almost constant nightmares, yet last night there was an eerie yet comfortable lack of dreams. It unnerved him; he was so used to the feeling of waking up trembling, white as a sheet, feeling slightly rested was an alien feeling.  
After washing his hair he shut the water off, shivering in the sudden cold. They couldn’t afford double glazing, so whenever he showered it was freezing after. Towelling himself off in record time, thanking his luck that the mirror had steamed up, then quickly began to put on his uniform. The routine of his life the past five years was practically the same; which depressed him a bit. He wondered if life would be different at university, if he got that far. 

Before he pulled on his shirt, and he was unsure why, he sprayed some aftershave on his unimpressive chest.  
‘Why?’ He questioned himself as soon as he had thought through what he was doing, ‘It’s not like it matters what anyone thinks of you.’ He thought sardonically, clenching his fists at his own stupidity. He pulled on his blazer and grabbed his Ipod and bag, then left, slipping out the front door silently, skipping breakfast before his mother could force food or medication down his throat.   
As soon as he walked into the bracing January air, he shivered, instantly regretting only wearing a shirt and a blazer. 

‘Twat.’ He thought to himself. He walked down the little driveway and looked back at the depressing little bungalow which he called home for the longest moment, then went on his way.

*

He sat near the back of the bus, nearing the depot, which meant another ten minutes or so before he’d reach school, and warmth. The bus was practically deserted apart from a few elderly women at the front of the bus, hunched together and whispering together.   
Louis leaned back into his seat and smiled minutely when Lies began to play. The song saddened him for some unknown reason; he felt the lyrics were telling him something, gnawing at him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He was drawn out of his sad little monologue by the bus pulling into the depot.   
The Manchester City depot was bustling with people, exactly what Louis hated. He stood up quickly just as the doors of the bus opened when he almost passed out.   
His vision went white and he saw stars for a second. His legs turned to jelly and they gave out from under him, letting him fall back onto the seat. His senses returned to him next to immediately, and he pictured the small, round container which sat on the window sill in the kitchen.  
His iron tablets. Cursing his stupidity to the furthest reaches, he wondered how he was going to get through today if he had a low iron level. 

He took several deep breaths, counting three inhales and three exhales, then slowly clambered to his feet and unboarded the bus, feeling as though nothing had happened. His anaemia had worsened somewhat alongside his mental health, which concerned him initially, but the constant waves of apathy he experienced leached the worry, passing it off as a little, weak moment.  
He wondered if he would last today without experiencing any of the more serious ailments of anaemia, which he had embarrassingly felt during school far too many times; days where his head had slumped forward on the table and he had turned a deathly palor, yet no one even cared to ask if he was okay. 

He shook his head, freeing himself from the cloud of memories which was obscuring his vision, and quickly began to maneouvre out of the depot, petrified by the tightly-packed bodies. Claustrophobia made his throat tighten uncomfortably, but as he broke free from the main body of people into the main street he relaxed a fraction.   
His breath whooshed out of his lips in relief. He was stressed that he would faint in the middle of the crowd, or take a panic attack. Or both. 

He made his way into a quiet Starbucks across the road and bathed in the gentle atmosphere for a moment; Lana Del Rey crooned through the speakers in the corner of the coffee shop. Louis bobbed up the counter and ordered a small tea, worrying for a moment that he was already extremely late for school, but quickly threw the thought off.   
‘I have an “appointment.”’ He thought darkly, shrugging the momentary worry off of his mind. Picking up his tea, he threw, what he thought was an small smile, at the barista, then left. His breath blew out between his lips as condensation; as the cold chilled him to the bones the very second he’d left the warm shop.

“F-f-fuckin’ hell.” He groaned in between shivers, clutching onto his tea with all his might; willing the heat to pass from the tea into him. The walk to school was mercifully short due to his quick pace. He found himself at the towering, black gates in the ten minutes which he’d left the Starbucks.   
He thought of his timetable and groaned when he realised he’d missed a triple Biology already, and it was in the middle of break now.   
The nauseating thought of having to ask someone in his biology class for their book so he could copy up missed notes made his head spin.

He screamed more expletives at himself about his utter idiocy, ‘who paints until four in the morning?’ He thought angrily. As he walked up the school’s drive, he noticed some people were walking about the grounds.   
He quickly slipped on his mask, and allowed his face to become an expressionless one, and his eyes became empty. The very life seemed to wash from his eyes as he did this, indicating the practice he had with erasing emotion. He busied himself with signing himself in at the main office, apologising for his lateness and throwing his books into his locker. He hadn’t seen Claire or Harry anywhere. All he saw was side-ward glances, or outright staring. As he was standing at his locker he noticed a large group of boys from his year opposite him. 

Without giving them an opportunity, Louis yanked his black notebook and Geography file out and locked the locker within a few seconds, speeding from the locker area as fast as he could.   
His heart only began to slow slightly when he reached the little stone courtyard which he so often frequented on his break times. The isolation was an odd comfort, yet it meant no threatening looks and undisguised laughs. A solitary, temporary piece of heaven.

As he unsteadily settled himself onto one of the stone benches, he sunk to his right side, almost smashing the side of his head against the smooth stone. He knew the weakness and dizziness that was overcoming him so suddenly was his anaemia flaring up again.   
He really regretted forgetting his iron tablets.  
Nausea rolled over him in waves, and he sank off the bench and fell to his knees on the hard concrete, retching at the nausea which was twisting his stomach into impossible contortions. He lost all sensation in his limbs, and the strength evaporated from him in a moment. The last thing he recalled was seeing the dull grey of the sky passing over him.

*

Harry paused at the doors to the canteen, his face was the mask of concentration. His thick eyebrows were tightened in thought, and his mouth screwed up slightly.   
‘I wonder where Louis is.’ He mused, ruling out the canteen immediately. He saw the way Louis looked when he was around a large body of people. He looked like a little piglet looking at a butcher. He’d only known him a day and still Harry could tell so much about him simply from his body language.   
He paused a moment, wondering why he was thinking so much about Louis. The answer came almost instantly after he had formulated the question. 

‘I can’t bear to see someone so sad.’ He thought. The sadness in Louis’ eyes. The fear. All over something he had no control over. Harry shook his head, removing himself from his thoughts, and saw Claire Bryce by the old oak tree where Louis had had his car parked yesterday, thinking he had seen the two of them talking at one point.  
“Claire!” He shouted, his deep, throaty voice booming across the school grounds. Claire turned from her boyfriend and looked across to Harry, a surprised frown glued to her face.   
After some interrogation Claire told him that she assumed Louis might be off sick, but if he wasn’t he’d probably be in the central courtyard. Harry’s jaw slackened slightly as the light bulb switched on in his head. 

“I’m so stupid, of course!” He chuckled without humour and thanked Claire, ignoring the death stare he was receiving from her boyfriend. He looked at the old watch on his wrist and realised he had another fifteen minutes to find Louis before he had his Biology class.   
It took a couple of minutes to get to the middle of the school where the courtyard was, but only a minute or so with his mile-long legs.   
He stepped out into the cold, wintry air and looked about the dull, grey courtyard. Louis stuck out like a thumb among the grey bricks. 

Harry’s mouth fell open. 

“Holy fuck.” He mouthed, breaking out of the paralysis which had gripped him, he sprinted to Louis’ unconscious side in a matter of seconds. Louis was lying on his back, and his normal complexion had faded to a frightening, wintry shade. He looked like a corpse.  
Harry placed his hand against Louis’ cheek, Harry’s massive hand almost encompassing the length of Louis’ head, and blanched at the cold of his skin, yet it wasn’t ice cold. He pressed his two fingers of his other hand into the pulse point at Louis’ neck, counting to himself for a few seconds then breathing out loudly, feeling a strong healthy pulse. 

‘He’s alive.’ Harry thought, rubbing the side of Louis’ face quickly to try and transfer some warmth. From his limited biological knowledge, Harry assumed that Louis had just fainted, as all his other vital signs were strong, and he had no other injuries Harry could see. His first-aid training kicking in, Harry done a top-to-toe bleeding check on Louis, starting by slowly rubbing his hands through his hair, around his shoulders and all the way down his body. He sighed with relief when he retracted his hands and no blood stained his shaking hands.

Harry wrapped his hands gently around Louis’ shoulders and lifted him up into a sitting position; bringing one of his knees up, and letting Louis rest on it. He noticed now that Louis’ airway was more open, colour was beginning to flood slowly back into his face.   
“He’ll wake up soon.” Harry reasoned, nodding to himself, but resolved to go get help if he hadn’t woken in five minutes. He was scared at what would have happened if Harry hadn’t had the notion to find Louis. He shivered, casting the thought away. He looked around Louis and found a file belonging to him still on the bench, and the black notebook which he’d been writing on in Chemistry yesterday lying open on the hard ground.

He wondered what subject the notebook was for, caught up in a moment of petty curiosity. If he had any concept of the true nature of the book, he would not have read it, but he had already began. 

sitting in chemistry and sitting beside one of zayn’s friends fuckfuckfuck what the fuck am i going to do?? (Harry realised the reason Louis was warily looking to see if Harry was observing him write now.)   
shit i thought zayn had backed off, obviously he’s going to come down on me like a tonne of bricks now, say i fancy his friend or something (Scribbles decorate the next couple of lines.) he’s looking at me what do i do? we talked and he said he wasn’t zayn’s friend any more. it could be a lie……. but he seems so nice.  
he has nice eyes too, then again who doesn’t look nicer than me.   
(The following was wrote later Harry assumed, perhaps that night.)   
i drove harry to the depot today [zayn’s friend is called harry] and he was so. idk how to explain. genuine? he didn’t seem like he wanted to make fun of me or laugh. he just wanted to talk about music. but obviously there’s some joke that’s gonna’ get sprung on me soon enough. ‘lol you thought you had a friend, faggot!’ sounds plausible.  
i feel really shit rn and i just couldn’t be assed with anymore of this ‘writing-my-feelings-down’ bullshit, im gonna read for a bit and paint maybe, i want to paint  
(the page ended on that note, with a drawing of a small, dead tree.)

A lump rose in Harry’s throat. He had no idea Louis thought so lowly of himself. The fact that he seemed so uneasy around Harry and that he assumed Harry being friendly was a colossal joke broke Harry’s heart.   
Louis’ face in unconsciousness was free of the pains of consciousness. The hesitation and shyness which so often screwed up his features was gone, and the fear was gone from his face. He seemed so peaceful. Harry wished he had always looked like this, he wished that he didn’t have to live in fear just for who he was. He felt partly if not completely responsible for Louis’ situation, due to his inaction. 

Before he could sink further into his personal angst, Louis’ nose twitched and his lips parted infestimally. Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise.   
“C’mon wake up pup.” He urged, hoping his voice would pull Louis over to the other side.   
Louis’ pure, cobalt-blue eyes opened lazily, and he stared into Harry’s eyes for a second without any of the hesitation Harry was accustomed to, then when he grasped his surroundings, he let his eyes in embarrassment.

Harry stared straight into Louis with sad eyes, thinking of the notebook.


	4. Lithium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to link certain songs I thought went really well at certain points in the chapter on my tumblr, so you might enjoy reading it on there better. :) angelsfellfirst.tumblr.com

Louis' hand found the hard concrete quickly, shifting uncomfortably from the physical contact which he was experiencing with Harry. Harry's left hand was pressed against Louis' face, while his other was supporting his shoulder, the warmth spreading from Harry's hand into Louis' icy skin was so comforting, but he shifted away, whining quietly.

"Lemme' go." Louis protested weakly, attempting to push himself up from Harry, but falling back weakly onto him. 

Harry wondered why Louis was being odd, and squirming away, suddenly beginning to worry he was hurting Louis in some unknown way. 

"What's wrong pup?" He whispered, more to himself than Louis, to which Louis only replied with the same, strangled whimper. Harry sighed and gently yanked Louis up from his half-lying position and lay him against the stone bench slowly. Louis' quiet protestations seemed to cease shortly after, and the two of them fell into a tense silence.

The silence was broken a minute later by heavy, broken gasps from Louis. Harry's head whipped up, his curls haphazardly falling into his wide, green eyes. 

"I can't breathe." Louis whined, his gasps becoming louder and more raspy with each passing moment, as his lungs burned for oxygen. Harry's heart quickened as he instinctually pulled Louis off the stone bench and placed his back against his chest. 

'Anaemia.' Harry thought, groaning at his stupidity. 

'The weakness, the pale colour. Fucking hell Harry.' He thought gravely to himself. 

He came around to Louis' side and dropped his head so he was talking directly into Louis' ear. 

"Put your head between your legs." Harry commanded gently. Louis resisted initially, but eventually succumbed with Harry's huge hands twined in his hair and gently pulling Louis' head towards his legs. After another minute or so, Louis felt the air begin to filter properly back into his lungs. His vision began to become more focused, and the white spots slowly disappeared he sighed with relief, thanking his lucky stars Harry was around. However the concept of Harry not finding him was a sickeningly attractive thought to Louis. In that moment he realised how sick he really was. 

His thoughts reached perfect clarity too soon. He realised where he was, that people could be watching, laughing, pointing. He stopped his thoughts in his tracks for a moment and listened. All he heard was slight tweets of nearby birds, no jeers, no taunts. He became slightly less rigid and relaxed back into the hardness of the rough, stone bench, idly wondering where Harry had gone. 

'Probably realised I'm a basket case.' Louis chuckled without humour, sighing immediately after. His eyebrows knotted together, indicating he was deep in thought. 

'This stone is really fucking warm.' He muttered, gently trying to move about a bit and see if his strength was returning. Although it was returning slowly, a simple gesture like shifting his weight from the right to the left exhausted him, his eyes fluttered dangerously and he leaned his head back into the bench, expecting his head to come into contact with the rough stone, however his head made contact with soft skin. 

He thought nothing of it at first, and then his heart caught in his mouth. The bench was actually Harry. 

"Oh fuck." Louis said as loudly as his quiet nature permitted him, as he felt a sudden surge of strength flow through him and he crawled away from Harry as fast as he could without making himself faint again and landed on his backside on the ground.

He looked up to see Harry sitting cross legged across from him, a puzzled pout fused with concern lay upon his lips. Louis dropped his eyes to his hands which he folded and knotted in his lap repeatedly to give his absent mind something to do. The fragile, crystalline silence was broken by the carving of an Adonis before Louis.

"You're anaemic aren't you?" Harry questioned quietly, his green eyes free of any judgment or resentment, but he imagined what Harry's face would resemble when he eventually succumbed to the universal opinion everyone possessed for Louis, yet he found he couldn't picture Harry's expression tainted with anything negative or detrimental. The purity of his eyes was the only reason Louis even opened his mouth near Harry. Harry was the only reason Louis was here right now.

Louis mind was working at a slow, trundling pace, and he was imaging how Harry knew he was anaemic. 

'How much else does he know?' Louis pondered to himself, his sea-blue eyes quickly sliding up from his lap to meet the grass-green ones. 

"Um- yeah I am." Louis whispered, his cheeks beginning to flush a light red at the embarrassment. Harry had found him basically unconscious and had held him for God knows how long. 

"Do you have your iron tablets with you?" Harry pressed, his concern was so convincing to Louis, he had never seen such a good actor. 

"I left them at home, my stupid fault. Look this was just a weak turn I'll be-" Harry cut him off quickly, with a fierce shake of his head. 

"If you don't get iron into your system it'll get harder and harder to breathe, so a) you'll faint again, and b) an ambulance will have to come, and I'm sure you could do without the embarrassment." He added with a gentle, throaty chuckle. Louis' head fell back to his lap and he attempted a smile, which fell short.

'I could do without the embarrassment...' 

"Do you have someone at home who can come pick you up?" Harry murmured, Louis began to protest but Harry held his hand up, "You need to go home. You need to get your iron tablets pup.' Harry let a slight smile spread hesitantly across his lips, both corners of his lips beginning to pull up minutely, but the smile was so warm, it warmed Louis to the core.

Louis blushed a bit at Harry's name for him, hoping he didn't make it a habit. Yet he couldn't deny how warm and fuzzy it made him feel inside. An alien feeling. Louis kept his eyes glued to Harry's for a moment, thinking through his demand. 

"There's no one at home, my mum works late all week. I can't get home regardless so it doesn't matter." He saw Harry's eyes knit together, an expression which he seemed to express often, it was disgustingly adorable, yet Louis kept his opinions concealed, allowing his face to be the same, blank mask he had to perfection, betraying no emotion. 

"I'll drive you home, you can't stay at school Louis.." His voice trailed off awkwardly, and he was the one to drop his eyes from Louis'. Louis blinked a bit, and imagined Harry driving him home on the back of a motorbike and turned green at the thought. Harry noticed his internal conflict and smiled awkwardly, pushing himself up from the ground, towering completely over Louis, casting Louis into his shadow. 

A huge hand came down from the sky and opened in front of Louis. He observed it cautiously for a minute, and shuffled a little bit away. Harry's hand hesitated and stiffened, closing slightly. 

Louis looked at Harry and wondered. He wondered why this boy was wanting to do things for him, to make sure he was okay. He wondered when Harry would tell him this was all a huge joke. Louis couldn't picture this friendship, or... whatever this was, lasting very long. 

He pressed his hand lightly into Harry huge paw; Harry's hand completely dwarfed Louis', a slightly intimidating gesture, Louis thought. Harry brought a shaky Louis to his feet and began to walk him towards the main office slowly, ghosting his movements exactly, with a strong hand on Louis' right shoulder, the other open and ready to catch Louis if he sagged towards the ground. 

Much to Louis' relief, the worst of the weakness, nausea and dizziness had alleviated, however he worried when it would return. He found himself in the main office before he knew it, facing the gentle-faced secretary, who looked up from filing and aimed a sweet smile at the pair of them. 

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" She asked in an quiet, endearing voice. Louis went to open his mouth and explain away his weak moment as absolutely nothing and that he could just return to class, and that he was being held to ransom by this Goliath before him, but Harry began speaking before Louis could. 

"My friend here passed out because he hasn't taken his iron tablets, and he's quite severely anaemic, but he has no one to take him home to get his tablets so I was going to take him home and then come back to school?" The ageing woman took this information in for a moment and minutely nodded to herself, peeling a thick book out of her desk. 

"That should be fine, just remember to sign back in again when you come back Mr. Styles." Harry nodded, and pointed to the front door, at which Louis scowled ferociously, but as his hands were practically tied, he could do no more other than to go home with Harry. The secretary called a, "Hope you're okay, dear." to Louis as he was exciting the office, to which he aimed a small smile at her, then pushed the main doors open and gasped quietly at the ferocious January wind smacked him in the face; he had gotten used to the heat during the minute or so he was inside. 

The dilemma that he was suppressing now rocketed itself to the forefront of his mind - he didn't want Harry to come back to his shitty house, he didn't want Harry in his house, he didn't want Harry to know how shit and poor he was. Plus he didn't want to fucking faint of either his anaemia or sheer fear at being on a motorcycle. 

Harry prodded Louis along gently until they reached a small, sheltered area that some cars were parked. In among these cars was a light, mint green... motorbike?. It seemed like a little moped or scooter. Louis' mouthed sagged at the cute little bike, wondering if it was far off an electric scooter children played on. 

"Yeah okay it's small shut up." Harry muttered dubiously, placing both his hands on Louis' back and shoving him gently towards the bike. Due to their difference in height and strength, Louis went pelting forward and almost barreled into the scooter, stopping himself moments before he colliding the bike, and felt fire spread on his skin where Harry had touched him. 

"Some 'motorbike'..." Louis murmured quietly, however he allowed it to be loud enough to quietly could hear. Harry laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he heaved with laughter. When he eventually stopped, pushing his hair out of his eyes, he attempted to put on a completely expressionless face, but cracked into an ear-to-ear grin within a second of Louis' broken expression. 

Louis hated this.

He hated how open Harry made him become. 

He hated being normal, and he hated actually coming out of his shell around Harry. This stupid little fake friendship was going to end soon and the tiny inklings of happiness Louis was feeling lap against his toes would leach away in a second. 

'Fuck.' Louis thought. 'I've been so stupid.' 

"Get on the bike then, dickhead." Harry said roughly, his smile still plastered across his huge, stupid, beautiful face. Louis stopped his stupid musings and turned his gaze instead to the small motorbike. 

"Um..." Louis began, wondering how to get on the bike properly without toppling it over. Harry didn't wait for Louis to mount it himself, as Harry lithely slid across the main seat, and kicked the ignition spring on the right side, allowing the weight of the bike be supported by his right foot. 

"Hop on pup." He said, over the gentle sputter of the engine. Louis froze up, and took a step back. He couldn't be this close to Harry, he couldn't ride on a fucking motorbike, he couldn't do any of this anymore, he had been too open and vulnerable these past two days. 

"C'mon Lou, you can stick both your headphones in the entire way, I won't mind, it'll help you relax?" He offered hopefully, extending his hand out to Louis for the second time today. Louis considered this for a second, and shrugged, wanting to put up more of a fight but knew he would never best Harry; he deftly slid his headphones into his ears in quick, concise, practiced movements, and decided he would put on a song that would at least make him feel bad for being such a burden on Harry's shoulders. 

Florence Welch's mystical voice began to whisper into Louis' ear, and he relaxed slightly, yet only the tiniest fraction. He edged closer to the bike, not placing his own hand in Harry's outstretched one, finding it slightly condescending, and began to try and slide himself onto the passenger seat, which was basically on top of Harry. 

'There may as well be one fucking seat.' Louis grumbled internally, feeling about on the sides of the bike for some kind of bars which he could cling onto for dear life, but realised there was none. 

In the time Louis was taking to try and find some kind of support that wasn't Harry, Harry let the scooter begin to roll, and pushed it into drive. 

"Holy fuck." Louis whimpered; latching onto Harry's upper waist in a death grip. He didn't have time to think about how rock solid Harry was; he was like a soft rock that emanated heat. 

While driving to the school gates, Harry pulled the scooter off the road and onto the grass verge, then drove along the rough, grassy terrain until he drove straight off a little incline, making the scooter fall back onto the tarmac of the driveway heavily, making the entire bike shake with the force, and Louis felt his fists clench around Harry's jumper. Harry bent his head back and choked with laughter, whilst Louis stiffened and hid his face in Harry's thick, grey jumper. 

"You absolute BASTARD." Louis whispered, shaking like a leaf. Harry calmed down as soon as they reached the main gates, as he slowed down just before he crossed them, however he let the bike roll to a halt just before the main road, and reaching down to a compartment on his left, from which he produced a deep red helmet, and without Louis' consent, placed one hand against his neck to steady him, and with the other he fixed the helmet into place on his head.

After the helmet had been secured on Louis' head, Harry turned back without another word, turning to face the road. 

*

With Louis' direction, Harry eventually pulled up beside Louis' house. Louis' shitty, shitty house. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the thought of Harry turning his nose up at the little box Louis lived in. Without allowing another errant thought to register, he slid off the motorbike and stepped up onto the footpath, shakily turning round to Harry who was also unmounting his scooter. 

Louis' mouth opened, then he rammed it shut again, not trusting himself. Instead he folded both his hands together and clenched them against his waist. He slowly looked up to see Harry leaning against his bike, looking cruelly beautiful. 

The sun was at Harry's back, and it shone through his thick curls, illuminating the ends of his hair to an extremely light brown, and the seeming aura of light surrounding him added to his perfection. Harry's deep green eyes seemed to smolder slightly as he regarded Louis, and Louis shrank under Harry's scrutiny. 

"Um Harry-" Louis began, "Thanks a lot for the lift... Uh... I'm okay now I think-" His mouth got dry excruciatingly quickly as he pictured Harry looking over Louis' shoulder at his minuscule house. 

"I'll be okay.." Louis hoped he had injected enough gratitude into his quiet tone, then turned on his heel and began to make his way towards up the short driveway to his house. Before he could comprehend, the strength from him had drained; the ground got closer and closer in the space of a second. Roughly an inch off the ground he stopped, almost as if a hook had hooked around his belt and was suspending him in mid-air. 

Then his brief second of weakness had left as quickly as it came, and then his thoughts returned to their crystal-clear clarity. 

Harry's right arm was wrapped around Louis's hips from behind, and his left was around Louis' shoulders. Harry grunted quietly and then fluidly pulled Louis up into a standing position, but held his up a couple of inches above the ground, frightened he would sag again.

"You really aren't going to be okay, Louis. You're scaring the shit out of me. Jesus." He mumbled quietly, sighing even more quietly. 

"C'mon I'll get you your tablets and get you into bed then I'll leave okay?" Not waiting for Louis' assent, Harry began to walk up the driveway, with a semi-unconscious Louis Tomlinson in his arms. Without saying another word, Louis shifted about until he could feel his house key in his pocket, and began to wriggle about in his pocket with his hand and produced the key, just as Harry reached the door. 

"Uh, fuck- Um, sorry I swear I won't do this to you again, you're probably missing important classes or something. Please you can go back to school now really it's cool." Louis begged, his sea-blue eyes begging Louis' emerald-green.

Harry smiled gently but shook his head. 

"It's okay, pup. I'll catch up notes." Louis sighed almost inaudibly, a tactic he had mastered to not demonstrate his true emotion, but forced a light chuckle, which didn't sound right, but Harry seemed to accept it.

"Look, another thing-" Louis paused, and sighed with relief when Harry returned him to his feet to unlock the door, "My house is kinda, sorta, five hundred percent, really shit. So uh..." Harry's smile evaporated and a hard expression which he had never experienced was painted onto Harry's features, and directed straight at Louis. 

"Seriously? You think I'd give a shit if you lived in a mansion or a tin can?" His voice softened marginally and his eyebrows furrowed even more than they already were, his resulting expression was that of irritation mixed with shyness, "You're my friend. That stuff doesn't matter to me."

Louis' heart may as well have melted right at that moment. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish a few times, but realising he looked an absolute twat, he turned his focus to unlocking his front door; unable to ignore the fuzzy feeling in his gut. The feeling he had detested so thoroughly, the feeling he had chained away for so long. He never realised the chains had come loose. 

He stuck the key into the lock and turned it, then shoving against the door heavily with his shoulder. The door opened with a gentle creak, and Louis walked in quickly, depositing his bag at his bedroom door, and walking straight into the kitchen, making a beeline for his iron tablets. 

He shook two into his hand, and put them on his tongue; he retrieved the carton of milk from the fridge and sunk the iron tablets with the milk. Sighing with relief at the fact that he wasn't going to suffocate to death today. He quickly replaced the milk and then rested his head against the fridge, now thinking through all the embarrassment he had suffered today. Practically passed out twice, and had to be taken home by the only boy in the school who associated with him. Louis rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself out of the flashback before the embarrassment overwhelmed him. 

'Harry.' His mind reminded him. 

Louis' eyes whipped open and he saw Harry standing at the window where his iron tablets where, gazing at the collection of little brown bottles. 

Beside his lithium tablets. 

Louis almost gagged as he pictured Harry' eyebrows raising at the bottle which had his lithium, then his eyebrows curling in distaste, along with his chiseled features twisting into mere shadows of their former selves; disgusted. 

Louis cleared his throat as loudly as he could manage. Harry's gaze lifted from the small, brown bottle with Louis' name and darted to Louis himself. 

Harry's stomach clenched uneasily with worry. He now had more insight into the extract he had happened upon when Louis was unconscious. 

"Um, yeah, I'm okay. You can go now, if you want." Louis mumbled, not strong enough to look up and see the disgust he knew was inevitable to be present in Harry's eyes. 

"Go to bed and I'll go?" Harry suggested, his voice tinged with the worry that would not lift, the worry that was weighing his heart down. It was Louis' turn for his eyebrows to knot together. 

"But um, this is so not my business, like, it is off the fucking scale how less this could be my business, but uh..." 

He paused, and wrapped his hand around his neck lightly, completely unsure where he was going with this. Louis' jaw dropped as he personally-comprehended what Harry was about to say. 

"Uh, well uh, maybe you should take your tabs then go to sleep? You might sleep easier, and it might help pup... you know, you in general maybe..." His voice trailed off into a whisper; his voice had never, ever sounded as weak. It sounded so fragile, Louis' heart broke.

He hated being broken and sad and a burden. He didn't deserve a friend like this. He didn't deserve anything, never mind Harry stressing over him, still for some unknown reason. After a long, but peaceful silence, Louis spoke.

"Uh, yeah I suppose I could, if it'd help." Louis walked past Harry and picked up the brown bottle. The capital letters spelling 'LITHIUM CARBONATE' seemed like neon lighting; unable to ignore. He was sure now Harry had seen it, yet it begged the question if Harry knew what they were for. 

Louis passed Harry again and walked into the hall, and took a few steps to the bathroom door. Before he could open it, Harry caught his attention, leaning against the threshold of the kitchen door. His bright green eyes seemed so sad. 

They flickered to Louis' bedroom door, beside the front door, and then noticed the large sign that read, 'Lou'.

"That's your room, yeah?" Harry mumbled quietly. Louis nodded, and Harry nodded back, almost to himself. Something had affected him, Louis was ready to bet it was do with the fact that Harry had found himself in an awkward situation with a lonely, little, depressing basket case. 

Louis broke the eye contact, and turned into the bathroom, avoiding the full length mirror to the left of the bathroom door, avoiding his image reflected back at him. He navigated straight to the sink and poured a glass of water, and quickly chugged the two anti-depressants down with the water. 

Hoping they would take a while to set in, Louis exited the bathroom and saw Harry in the threshold of his own bedroom. 

"You okay?" Louis asked, his eyes darting about nervously as he waited for Harry to turn and respond. Harry didn't even turn around, he was looking at the painting Louis had completed that night. 

"Holy shit Lou, that's fucking amazing. It's so dark... but it's so good." Louis didn't respond, but released a little, involuntary smile; he wasn't used to praise, nor would he ever be. People didn't praise him full stop, why was Harry breaking the trend? 

"Well uh... Louis I'll go. I have your number though, it synced from Facebook or something, so I'll text you later or something?" Harry murmured, straightening up from his casual stance, and rubbed his hands against his jumper. Louis nodded, trying with all his might not to sound too enthusiastic. 

"Sounds good." Louis attempted to smile, but felt he couldn't. His face, no, his mind felt numb. The drugs were coming into effect very quickly. "Thanks for saving me today Harry." Harry cocked his head to the side, but accepted what Louis said. 

"Call me Haz, Lou. But yeah I'll talk to you later, go sleep." 

Louis nodded and waited until he heard Harry slam the front door until he exhaled. Before allowing himself to process any further thought, he stripped down to his boxers, pulled the curtains across the window, and fell into his small bed.

He felt the drowsiness which was perhaps his exhaustion from the night previous begin to take it's toll on him. He didn't even stop to take stock on how much Harry had disarmed his defences in the span of two days, he didn't want to think about it, because the more he pondered it, the more the inevitability of Harry leaving pressed on the inside of Louis' skull. 

Before allowing himself to succumb to the peaceful numbness that sleep offered, he put his Ipod on shuffle on his 'Sleep' playlist, and sank further into the mattress as Gabrielle Aplin began to croon to him. His last conscious thoughts were memories of the tall figure leaning against his bedroom door; even in a school uniform he looked like he could have walked down a catwalk. With this perfect image on his mind, he slipped silently away into the realms of unconsciousness.

*

Louis awoke to the sound of pans being banged together in the kitchen, he supposed his mum had gotten home from work and was making dinner, or maybe a murderer was beating her to death with a frying pan. The pills were still in his system, and he could feel them inhibiting him, physically and emotionally. 

He pulled his headphones out of his ears and stopped the shuffle on his Ipod, and blindly searched around for his phone in the darkness. He eventually came across a large, blocky structure tangled up in the bed covers. 

'Blockia. My old friend.' He thought. He didn't even consider getting a good phone when all he needed a phone for was to text people, he couldn't be another source for monetary stress for his mother. 

He extracted his phone from the tangle of his bed covers and pulled the phone up to his face. 

He had a message from an unknown number, which piqued his interest momentarily, but the effects of the lithium sapped that quickly. 

'hey pup, guess who? just checking to see you're still alive lol:-)' 

Despite the leaching of emotion that he experienced from the anti-depressant, he couldn't physically stop himself from smiling at his phone. What was it about Harry that made him happy? 

Before he allowed himself to forget, he saved Harry's number to his phone's memory as 'Haz', and then slowly began to thumb a reply to him. 

'i could say something but i won't haha, i really appreciate u saving me and stuff you know, indebted to you with my life and stuff.... (nah died an hour or so ago, v sad affair)'

He pressed send and placed his phone onto the floor beside his Ipod. He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head quickly, trying to staunch the warm, buttery feeling that came over him, despite the numbing effect of the drugs. 

"Haz." He murmured quietly.


	5. Copper

In some respects, Louis had preferred being alone. When he had no one bar his family, he had complete dedication to his thoughts and his music, the music which soothed him so at any moment of distress. Now, having bonded so quickly with the young, beautiful, happy Harry Styles; he didn’t feel as alone as he was so used to, but he was still undecided if this was a good thing or not. At times he just wanted to be alone once more, so he wouldn’t have to experience the pain of Harry inevitably leaving him, then the other half of him enjoyed the sensation of… friends. 

His thoughts then reluctantly left Harry, and moved onto Claire Bryce, the kind-hearted girl in Louis’ year who took it upon herself to approach Louis and offer support for no other reason other than to help. His heart swelled whilst recounting the moment in his head. Yet he shook off the memory quickly, angry at himself for sinking into memory; a technique which he had taught himself not to do for fear of coming across something triggering, something which would hurt him.

As he came back to reality, he recalled his surroundings. He was sitting at his usual, small, little table in the corner of the canteen, near no one in particular. The seclusion reassured Louis, which worried him slightly, yet he chained up the worry in the back of his mind. What human being craved isolation and felt joy at being completely alone?   
‘A fucked up one.’ He answered himself, somewhat sadly, almost as if he was beyond trying to be sardonic, but stopped when he realised the truly pathetic life he was leading. Today wasn’t one of his good days. It was a Friday, the end of his first week back at college, and it felt like a year had passed already. In one respect, it couldn’t have went any better; he had a person in his life who had an aura of vitality and happiness that enshrouded him, and anyone near him. He had a kind-hearted girl who worried for him.

Yet the dark voice in his head began to murmur quiet whispers of doubt into his ear.   
‘They think you’re insane.’  
‘You’re a basket case.’   
‘All you are is a pity friendship.’  
The thoughts, the ever dark thoughts, dragged him down. They sapped the goodness from Harry, instead of picturing him in his golden aura, his mind made his friendship out to be a lie, and his happy, friendly side was simply a front, disguising an ulterior motive which was yet to be revealed. 

‘You will never be happy.’ The voice whispered finally, before dissipating like vapour into the fathoms of his mind, as though it had never been there. In his battle with his mind, he had taken to staring blindly out of the nearby window, but let his head drop to his lap as he fought back tears at the truth of the final thought.   
Today wasn’t going to be a good day regardless. He didn’t have chemistry on a Friday, so he wasn’t going to see Harry. He caught a glimpse of him sitting on the opposite end of the canteen with a group of his mates but he quickly looked away before drawing any attention to himself from either Harry or his friends. He could imagine the raw jibes;  
"Watch out Harry, the fag has his eyes on you."   
Little did Louis know another group had their gaze completely focused on him that entire morning, with nothing but sinister intentions circling their mind.

*

Just as the morning bell rang for first lesson, Louis slid up from his seat and exited the canteen quickly, keeping his gaze solely on the floor to minimise witnessing any of the stares which were bound to be glued to him. He didn’t even bother looking for Harry; he knew he was too busy with his proper friends.   
Today was a day where he would have himself, and only himself, and that was fine for Louis. He could cope. He had coped for the full year before, he was going to do it now. He made his way towards his Geography classroom in silence. 

*

He left the class last, feigning that he was still finishing highlighting a section they had been learning on rain forests so everyone passed out of the classroom before him, anxious to get to break. 

He packed up his books in a matter of seconds after the last pupil had left, and he stood up and wrapped his bag around his thin shoulders, before quickly making his way out of the class, shooting an apologetic glance to his teacher before slipping out of the classroom.   
Before taking another step he familiarly placed his green headphones into his ears in deft movements, and resumed his Ipod from where it had left off. Louis’ head arched back slightly in sheer awe at Agnes Obel’s voice and his eyes closed as he began to whisper the lyrics;

“Go back and forward,   
but all is melting like the snow,  
Taking all from us,   
all we thought was left to know."

Before he knew it, he was at the familiar, abandoned courtyard in the centre of the school. The dullness, the lack of colour, the moody weather, all seemed to allude to his current frame of mind. Despite his overall horrific mood, he felt so at peace in that moment.   
No one was around him and he was alone with his thoughts. The only companion he knew which would never abandon him. He relaxed into the rough, brick wall and stared at a few small weeds, desperately trying to climb towards the sun between the cracks of two concrete slabs.   
He began to think about his mum. He wondered if she thought Louis was recovering from the suicide attempt. He cringed, his eyes squeezing shut. He tried his best to refrain from even thinking the word, ‘suicide’. 

He wondered if he was trying to forget all about it, if he was trying to focus on school so much so he could forget what a fuckup he was.   
‘Sounds plausible.’ He concluded, and then moaned as his stomach grumbled, and longed for the school canteen for a split second, then recalled all the tightly packed students, talking and laughing and gossiping.  
Before he could form another coherent, petty thought, a fist of iron smashed into the side of his face, sending his body flying to the side and his head colliding with the hard ground.   
Louis gagged at the pain, and tried to make sense of the flashing, blurred images he saw as his eyes struggled to focus. The pain was making his head heavy, and his consciousness was beginning to teeter on the precipice. The single punch had left him staggered, and moaning, almost inaudibly. No more punches followed the initial one, yet he did not allow relief to set in just yet. He had yet to identify his attacker. 

He heard quiet sniggers, but ignored them when he felt the frightening, metallic taste of blood rush over his tongue.   
He let out a involuntary whimper; he pushed himself up off the ground slowly and leaned against the wall, gasping when his eyes finally were able to focus on his assailant.   
"Remember me, gayboy?" Zayn asked, in a velvety voice, laced with malice. Louis couldn’t bring himself to focus on the other males who were with him, but from what he could roughly see in his peripherary, they were exactly the same people who had watched Zayn threaten him at his locker at the start of the year. 

Louis began to mutter, what the fuck, but it came out like,   
"wa- eh- ff-". Louis wished no more than for Harry to leap around the corner right at this minute and come to the rescue, but this wasn’t a fairytale, and the prince never comes to the rescue.  
Zayn exchanged smug smirks with his accomplices, before turning back to the pathetic, helpless Louis before him.   
"This is all your fault." Zayn stated quietly. At this point Louis lost all hope, and wrapped his small legs around his ribs and burrowed his head into his lap to try and minimise the damage. 

Then the kicks started. Zayn started with a huge kick which connected with his spine, making a tear roll its way down Louis’ face quickly as his face contorted in pain.   
"That’s- what- you- get- for- being- a- fag." Zayn shouted, kicking Louis in a new spot between each word. To Louis’ relief, Zayn relented then, and stood back, admiring his handiwork. He received massive praise for his dealing with the ‘scumbag’, the ‘faggot’, and his henchmen began to make their way towards the exit to the courtyard. Zayn looked down once at Louis with a look of utter disgust, and before Louis could react, a ball of spit splashed against his face. When he cleared his face of saliva he saw, with massive relief, that Zayn was leaving alongside his cronies.   
Louis leaned his neck back and tried to feel the damage that had been inflicted, but could only cry.  
The tears rolled down his dirt-caked face and mixed with the dirt, making his face a dirty, runny mess. 

"Why did he have to do that?" Louis sobbed, his aching hands still wrapped protectively around his rib cage. “Just because- I’m- I’m-"  
‘Gay.’ The voice in his head completed for him. Just because he was a mess, because he was wired wrong, because he was so fucked up that he was beyond any help. He didn’t blame Zayn. He deserved this, and so much more. He deserved the pain and hatred piled onto him relentlessly until his back broke under the pressure.  
"You mess." Louis muttered to himself, surfacing from the sludgy, opaque thoughts in his mind; coming back to reality.   
He painfully began to make his way to his feet, ignoring the excruciating pain he felt in his lower spine as he staggered to his feet.  
He bit down on his lip to prevent the moan of pain from escaping; he slowly began to limp towards the exit from the courtyard, praying to a god he didn’t believe in to ensure Zayn wasn’t still by the exit. He exhaled painfully when he saw nothing but an empty corridor before him. 

Without thinking, he started to walk down the empty corridor towards his next class, although there was another fifteen minutes before the end of break period.   
He found himself sprawled over a small bench that was near his locker. His entire body, especially his lower back, was screaming in fiery agony. The pain came in waves. At points it flared up and washed over him, making him gag. He exhaled as he felt the pain recede slightly after it had become particularly intense, yet moaned when he heard a couple of pairs of footsteps coming towards him loudly. 

He decided he was going to make himself explode into flames if it was Zayn, no questions asked. He was resolving how he would make himself go alight when he heard a concerned gasp, and a single pair of footsteps accelerated.   
"Louis!" A gentle voice exclaimed, Claire’s small hands took hold of Louis gently yet firmly, one on his shoulder and the other attached securely to his right hand.   
"Christ above, Louis you’re a mess what the fuck happened?" The expletive sounded out of place when emanated from Claire’s gentle, innocent voice.   
"I fell down the Spanish st-" He didn’t get to finish before she cut him off abruptly.

"Bullshit, Louis and we both know it. I’m gonna’ get you home and you’re telling me what little shit did this to you." Louis’ eyes widened; he was taken aback by the ferociousness and protectiveness of Claire’s personality. It comforted him so much yet frightened him to the same degree.  
"Claire you have classes, it isn’t even lunch yet." Louis moaned, absentmindedly clutching his stomach to try and suppress the fire which was burning; the only fire which would leave bruises.

"Without sounding like a complete bitch, frankly, there is no force you can exert on me which could possibly stop me from leaving school and taking you home, Louis." Claire turned to her assembled friends and whispered goodbyes; Louis took their well-wishes by letting his eyes slide to the floor.   
The floor directly beneath him boasted a small puddle of deep crimson. He felt at his nose and his eyebrows furrowed when he felt a warm liquid spread across his index and middle finger. Now he understood Claire’s concern.   
He felt Claire’s petite arm slide around his waist and hoist him up shakily to his feet, then steadied him with her other.   
"Does it hurt to walk?" She asked, squeezing Louis’ waist gently.   
"No." He lied. Claire nodded and slowly guided him the familiar route down to the main office.   
*  
On their way home in Claire’s mum’s car, the pain had receded slightly, and he found that the only area where the pain was still particularly noticeable was in his lower back, but he decided it would fade, and attempted to cast his unsuccessfully from his mind.   
They sat together at the small, round, wooden table in the centre of Louis’ kitchen, with warm mugs of tea glued to their cold fingers. Louis was simply amazed. He hadn’t even known Claire a week, just like Harry, and she was treating him like a best friend.   
"So how was coming out?" Claire murmured quietly, her hazel eyes sliding up from her tea to Louis’ eyes, her tone exuded an atmosphere of confidence, not nosiness. 

"Uh, well.. The whole process of ‘coming out’ was done for me." Louis’ eyes uneasily shifted from Claire, and his arms wrapped around his middle. “A friend of mine called Laura kinda’ told everyone.." Louis’ voice trailed off into nothing.   
Claire’s eyes softened, and they glazed over slightly; her right hand clasped itself around her mouth to disguise her shock.   
"Christ, Louis. That’s fucking awful.." Her mouth trembled as she closed it. “I.. I had a sister who went through the same thing as you did." Claire stopped talking abruptly and looked very hard into her mug. 

"Shit I-" Louis stopped a moment, “Is she okay? What happened to her?" Louis mumbled, angry at himself for being so nosy and rude.  
Claire’s stare became glassy, as if she was in a completely different world, seeing a completely different version of events.   
"Hayley was so confident about herself. She told me she was gay before anyone else, and I told her I still loved her and that she was still as amazing as ever, more so now I thought." Claire wiped a tear that was trying to escape from her eyes away quickly.  
"She came out in school just a week after telling me, she got some abuse but she could handle it, she was so strong; she was my inspiration. But one day a group of girls from her school decided that a girl who was different and happy with herself wasn’t allowed." Louis’ eyes pricked, as he felt his own eyes threaten to tear up. 

"A day after school, this group of girls, roughly around ten of them, cornered Hayley as she was leaving school. From what Hayley can recount, she told me how they circled her and started hurling abuse first, and Hayley told me she thought she would just keep her head down and take it."   
Claire’s dark expression made it clear abuse wasn’t the only thing her sister received.   
"They knocked the clean shit out of her. Ten girls on one lone girl, who had done nothing. They slapped her, kicked her, ripped her hair out, a whole other myriad of things. The whole way during her beating they were saying, “You deserve this, you gay." “Dyke." “Freak.""

"In the end she had a broken nose, two broken teeth, a fractured jawbone and two broken ribs; and not a fucking thing was done about it. The school wouldn’t act because it was ‘outside school’, and the police considered it a ‘school affair’, and the people who left Hayley half-dead were off scot free."   
Louis’ mouth hung open in disgust, who completely disregarded his own beating, not even considering it noteworthy.  
"Christ, Claire that is fucking awful. Is Hayley okay?" He asked gently, hoping he wasn’t provoking more negative emotions.   
The hollow look still hadn’t left Claire’s eyes. 

"Physically. She barely leaves the house anymore. She thinks she’s an abomination an blot on the page of Creation. She thinks she’s a disease. She hates herself because those fucking, idiotic, ignorant, little bitches hated her, just because she was happy with herself.   
Louis was speechless. He couldn’t form any coherent thoughts to speak. All he felt was disgust.   
"So now you see why I came to you on Monday? I can’t see that repeat again. I thought if you had a friend in me, I could help you and be there for you. If only I’d been there for Hayley more…" 

Louis’ eyes overflowed when Claire stopped speaking, unable to appreciate the insurmountable niceness and loveliness that was being demonstrated to him, solely for his benefit.   
"Ah I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make both of us cry." Claire murmured, which she followed by a watery chuckle, which Louis’ reciprocated lightly.   
It was at moments like these where Louis found it so easy to forget himself. He didn’t feel the familiar pull of the depression hanging over him. He only felt a glow of happiness, one which Harry cultured naturally. 

"I never knew you and Harry Styles were friends?" Claire murmured, a mischievous smile playing upon her lips. Louis frowned to himself and looked at his lap.   
"Neither did I…" Louis thought for a moment before continuing.   
"I don’t see what he would gain by being friends with me."   
Claire’s eyes widened.   
"Don’t put yourself down, Louis. I want to be friends with you just because I want to be friends with you."  
Louis shook his head, not sure he could put what he was thinking into words.

"I’m just a gay. Why would a beautiful, straight boy want to be friends with me? I’d just creep them out." Claire’s lip trembled. She didn’t say it out loud, but that was exactly the way her sister talked now.   
"You’re just Louis; you’re beautiful too. Maybe he’s hinting at something?" Louis’ eyes widened, then he broke down into uncontrollable laughter.   
"Are you suggesting- Harry Styles- fancies me?" Louis had to stop throughout the sentence to guffaw. Claire frowned but didn’t want to press the subject any further.   
"He’s too nice to even be gay, never mind interested in me, you silly thing." Louis mumbled, coming back down from his temporary moment of humour, and his heart felt cold.  
It truly hit him that Harry sat on a pedestal, out of reach. Put into his life only to taunt him and make Louis feel inadequate; not that he didn’t feel like so already.

* 

Claire pushed her chair back and the legs squeaked loudly against the linoleum floor.  
"Louis I have to head home and make sure Hayley takes her meds and stuff, I’ll text you or something later on? We should go out a walk to the fields or something this weekend." Louis nodded and accompanied her to the door. 

“Text me!" She shouted as she got into her car. Louis nodded and smiled as she waved when she drove off. As soon as she was out of sight the smile peeled from Louis’ face. He closed the front door gently, and rested his head against the wood, feeling the grainy texture of the wood against his forehead.   
He thought of everything Claire had said about Hayley; how Hayley had changed after her assault really frightened Louis.   
That was exactly how he was now.   
He shook his head and turned into the kitchen, where he quickly washed the mugs they had both drank from, then headed into the bathroom and started to run a bath, hoping the water would sooth him. 

As he waited for the bath to fill up, he went into his bedroom and grabbed his phone, his Ipod and the book he was currently reading, ‘The Grapes of Wrath’. He set them all down by the side of the bath, which was now half full, and turned to the full-length mirror in front of him.   
He stripped down and glared at himself in the mirror disgustedly, then sighed, his undesirable body could do nothing but depress him. His gaze returned to his face; his expression was completely free of emotion, blank. It frightened him. He forced himself to put on a massive smile to himself in the mirror, although it faded quickly, almost pathetically back to the same expressionless gaze. 

He looked away from the mirror abruptly, unable to take his self-appraisal any longer. He made his Ipod play out loud at the side of the bath; Halestorm began to blast through the Ipod’s speakers, filling up the bathroom with loud music, enough to distract Louis from his current state of mind.  
He let himself sink into the bath slowly, and quivered at the extreme heat of the water, but relished the heat in another respect; the pain kept him grounded.   
A quiet buzz indicated someone had just texted him.   
"Claire?" Louis wondered, thinking she couldn’t wait until Louis would text her. He carefully picked his phone up from the side of the bath and unlocked it. 

1 New Message;  
from; Haz

Hey pup:-)

Louis’ eyes pricked as he thought of what Claire said about Harry.  
Louis didn’t reply.


	6. Looking Glass

The night passed slowly. The small digital clock on the bedside locker exclaimed it's bright red numbers as a testimony to the time. Louis lay perched on the end of his small bed, observing his bedroom, shrouded in darkness; broiling in pain. He imagined the darkness being destroyed, cast out, and being replaced with a luminescent, golden glow, emanated by a tall, lanky silhouette. The only colour which Louis could see was the bright, emerald green shade of the shadow's eyes. 

Louis' eyes flitted to the completed painting which was still resting upon his easel, and realised the shade of green on the grass was identical to the hue of the shadow's eyes. Louis' throat thickened as he realised.  
The colour he had taken such solace in that one night...  
'Harry.' He thought agonisingly, then his thoughts deteriorated down a darker path. 'Why do you think of him? Why?!' Louis' hands clenched into tightly balled fists and clamped them tightly over his eyelids. 

'You have no right to think of him. He owes you nothing.' The voice in his mind began to whisper, in response Louis gave an involuntary shiver, and whimpered helplessly, unprepared for yet another attack from his self-destructive mind, stacked on top of the physical pain he was immersed in from his recent beating.   
'Why can't I be normal?' He wondered weakly, as the first of the tears began to drip slowly out the corner of his eyes and snake their way down his cheeks, caused partly by the physical pain he was in, and also by his inner turmoil.

He turned his head towards the wall and covered himself in bed covers and pillows, hoping the pressure on his body would alleviate the pressure on his mind. To his immense relief, the dark thoughts in his head seemed to unexpectedly disappear; almost immediately, yet the sudden departure promised the inevitability of definite and swift return.  
He curled up into the foetal position, his regular sleeping position, and began to rock himself gently as his tears continued to trickle; something which would ease him into sleep sometimes. Yet tonight, he would not go over.   
He felt so... alone. He had experienced loneliness several times each day, inadequacy even more frequently; yet this was different. 

He longed for the feeling of someone else to lie beside him and be with him, not in the sexual sense, just for someone to be there, for someone to hold him when he couldn't stop his mind from wreaking havoc, for a steadying hand; to be loved.  
'The most simplistic, yet the most unattainable desire.' He thought. For the first time in a very long time, Louis' wished for someone to yearn to be with him as much as Louis wanted to be with them. To be wanted. With those final, piercing thoughts, Louis allowed himself to drift into an uneasy sleep. 

*

Louis' eyes snapped open; he let out a loud groan as his back exploded in agony. His muscles in his back locked up as a wave of fiery pain spread along his back. He gagged but forced himself to stay in one position, eventually, to his huge relief, the pain began to dull, then subsided completely after a few minutes.  
"Must have rolled onto my back." Louis pondered, whilst remaining deathly still, petrified of invoking another wave of pain. He resolved to stay in this position for another couple of minutes before trying to extricate himself from it. His thoughts drifted from himself to his mother, his ever toiling mother. The woman who would work almost a twenty four hour shift just to provide for her only, mental son.

'Mum mustn't have gotten home yet... She might have taken a double shift?' His eyebrows angrily furrowed as he worried, a habit he had gleaned from his mother. After a few pain-free minutes, Louis shuffled pathetically from the wall, and gently pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt slight twinges of pain, but slowly pulled himself to his feet, ensuring he didn't allow anything to come into contact with his back; thankfully no waves of pain crashed against him. Yet.  
Since Claire had dragged him home the day previous, he had avoided looking in the mirror and getting to witness first hand Zayn's handiwork, as the only reflective surfaces were the full-length mirror in the bathroom and the toaster in the kitchen, the monumental pain he had felt for just placing pressure on his back indicated there were injuries waiting to greet him in the mirror, the severity of which he didn't want to think about. 

Unwillingly he padded up to the bathroom door, unsure if he wanted to really see what was going to greet him. One hand rested against the rough, grainy wood, whilst the other gently probed his face. He felt slightly reassured when he felt no liquid oozing from any orifices, yet he still was apprehensive. He gingerly peeled open the door and quickly walked up to the mirror, hoping the damage wouldn't be too shocking.  
Louis' jaw slipped open as he took his body in. He only wore black boxers, yet certain parts of him were so bruised, they too appeared the same shade of black.   
"Christ." Louis mumbled to himself, realising what a good actress Claire must have been to not panic at the extent of his injuries. 

His right eye boasted a huge, shiny, black eye, witness to Zayn's initial punch. Along his stomach and back were large bruises and welts from the kicking he had received, which throbbed horribly whenever he applied pressure to them.   
"I'm a mess." He whimpered, wrapping one of his arms gently around his middle, a gesture he'd taken to; an indication of his insecurity, even more so when his lacklustre body was no speckled with black and purple.

As bad as the injuries were, he didn't think they were anything unmanageable; the pain would eventually fade, the marks would fade. They always faded.   
Louis' thought's drifted to his mother once more, and he wondered if she would genuinely erupt and spew magma whenever she would inevitably see Louis' injuries.   
He sighed slightly, closing his eyes for a moment, before turning the rusty cold tap to the right and pushing his hands under the chilling flow of water for a moment, allowing the clear liquid to pool in his cupped hands; he dabbed the water over his sensitive face, then looked down from the mirror and sighed once more, he felt like he completely deserved this, this pain.

He was ashamed of himself, so much so that he couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror once again.  
He left the bathroom silently, returning to his bedroom; getting dressed in the darkness relieved some of the anxiety, the darkness softened the edge of the pain somehow.   
His eyes drifted to the half illuminated painting in his room, and he simply stared at the green shade of the grass, sighing quietly.  
In that moment he missed Harry so much, not in a romantic way, he just simply craved his presence. He missed the feeling he'd become so accustomed to in the short period he knew Harry, the feeling of normality, with it bringing stirrings of happiness. 

He realised why he hadn't seen much of Harry in the past few days, Harry had finally got the message; to stay the fuck away from the gay. Louis' hand pressed against his chest, just above his heart. He felt a sinking, gnawing pain in his ribcage. As much as he had predicted Harry's inevitable realisation of what a lost case he was, it still hurt. It hurt so much. He grabbed a fistful of fabric from his shirt and held it in a death grip.

He took a few moments composing himself, and allowing himself to catch his breath, before shaking off his moment of weakness.   
'You knew this was coming. You knew he wouldn't stay.' His own logic saddened him, yet he knew he was right. He pattered over to his windows and pulled apart the curtains, trying to distract himself, revealing yet another cold, misty morning. He stared blankly into the white fog in the distance, wishing he could fade away with the mist and not have to think about yet another rejection he had to face.

His hollow stare remained fixed upon the distance for a good while, however he was brought back from his dark trance by a sound similar to a hacksaw cutting through a thick plank of wood; his phone's display lit up and vibrated loudly, indicating he was getting a call. Louis flinched when he turned to face the block he referred to as a phone; as he picked it up the colour drained from his face. 

\- Incoming Call : Haz - 

Louis' mouth felt like sandpaper. His brain was telling him to reject the call, but his heart was telling him to accept it. Without questioning why, and ignoring his head which was screaming profanities at him and his stupidity, Louis pressed the green button. He gently brought the phone to his right ear and licked his dry lips, no matter if this was a call to tell Louis to stay away from Harry for good, Louis still couldn't do something to hurt him. 

“Hello?” He whispered, anticipating the worst, an angry tone, hatred.   
“Hey pup.” Harry's confident, happy tone answered. In a split-second, all Louis' concerns and worries melted away, he wondered why he had thought anything sinister would come of him taking a call from Harry. 

“Hi.” Louis mumbled; Harry cracked a wide smile on the other end of the phone, hearing Louis' smile.  
“Hey... again.” Harry reciprocated, beginning to laugh quietly when he heard Louis' almost silent chuckles on the other end.  
“So... hey.” Louis murmured, a smile slowly but surely spreading across his lips.

He forgot the feeling of smiling so much his cheeks hurt, all in the space of talking to Harry in approximately six seconds.  
“Yeah hey,” Harry laughed again quietly then continued, “I'm not sure if you got my text last night or didn't have credit or anything, but I'm doing a gig tomorrow night in Dice Bar and I'd like it if you saw how shit I was at music...” His voice trailed off into another gentle laugh. “Plus you kind of owe me, as I saved your life and stuff.”  
Louis took the phone from his ear and looked at it incredulously, he couldn't believe this boy still wanted him in his life. He had too much baggage for anyone to bear the weight of. He felt incredibly guilty for suppressing Harry's happy, carefree energy.  
“Uh.. um.. A Sunday night gig? Bit of an odd time for a gig?” Louis murmured, unsure of what else to say. his fist grabbed a clump of his tshirt and twisted it into a tight ball.  
“Well it's because of the bank holiday on Monday..”  
“Ahhh... I see, I see..” Harry waited for a while, thinking Louis had something more to add.

“Well, uh, do you want to come along?” I'm only bringing one friend to it besides you so you won't have to stress about lots of people, plus Niamh's lovely.” Louis' heart thudded warmly in his chest, he felt a fluttery feeling with each beat.  
He opened his mouth to speak, to graciously accept his offer, but his mind stopped him.   
'He doesn't really want you to go, you're just the pity invite.' His mind screamed, finished with remaining on the fringes of his awareness. The happiness he had felt trickling down seemed to be stoppered, making him hesitate with his reply.

“Don't be feeling like...” He fumbled for the right words, “Like you're obligated to invite me or something.” He chuckled nervously at the end of his sentence. All Louis heard for a good few seconds was silence, had he hit a nerve?   
“Why would you think that I would be... 'obligated'?” Harry questioned, an almost angry tone took over from the usual gentle, passive demeanour he usually demonstrated. Louis' eyes, by habit, darted to the floor, almost as if he could feel the two, emerald-green eyes gazing into him.

“Well I just assumed, you strike me the kind of person who'd try and help anyone who needed the help.. and... well.” He laughed without humour; the 'And I need the help.' went without being said. Harry sighed quietly and was silent for a moment.  
“Louis, without sounding like a prick, I'm going to take you to a self esteem class some day, you really need to realise that you're not a waste; now you're gonna' come to my gig, not because I feel sorry for you, because I want you, as my friend, to see me play, and to make friends, okay?” 

Louis couldn't reply, his throat had thickened so much that he couldn't speak; a lone tear began to streak it's way down his right cheek, threatening the imminent appearance of more of it's allies, yet he caught it quickly, in an effort to prevent more. He coughed loudly, attempting to clear his throat. When he finally composed himself enough to speak, he whispered down the phone, for fear of his voice breaking. 

“Harry-” Louis began, but Harry cut him off.  
“Haz.” Harry stated, but his natural, good humour had returned. Louis' eyes pricked again, but he restrained himself. He was still at a loss why this boy, this person, thought anything of Louis, all Louis was to anyone in school bar him and Claire was, 'the gay.' Even when he realised what a mess Louis was, he hadn't attempted to drop Louis as everyone else had. He had seen Louis' medication, he had seen how fucking odd he was, what more evidence did he need to run for the hills?  
“Haz,” Louis took a moment getting used to actually saying it out loud, “I'd love to. I'll try my best to get out.” Harry's seemed to exhale in relief, which seemed so odd to Louis, almost as if his night hinged on Louis coming to his gig with him. 

“You'd better.” Harry grumbled, then broke out into a typical laugh of his, to which Louis chuckled along with.  
“See you then!” Harry exclaimed enthusiastically, leaving Louis then with nothing but the dial tone. Louis' held the phone to his ear for a minute, still thinking over the conversation, and smiling idiotically when he recalled Harry's voice, especially referring to him as 'pup'. He detested the nickname, he found it quite patronising; but the fact that it came from Harry's lips made it like Louis' middle name. 

Before he could realise and stop himself, an idiotic smile spread across his lips, he hadn't the foggiest why, more so how. Harry's proposition frankly left him quivering at the knees. A loud, bustling bar, alongside lots of drunk, rowdy people. Louis' personal nightmare. He closed his eyes and shook his head at his own idiocy.  
“I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.” He murmured almost silently; he then proceeded to slowly dress himself. He gasped in pain as he rolled his comfy tracksuit up his leg. Louis' hunched over in a ball of pain momentarily, then gasped in relief as it relented. 

'This is a good sign.' He promised himself, shaking his head as he thought it, almost to further affirm that nothing was amiss, and that he would be fine. He continued to gingerly pull his tracksuit up his leg, then exhaled when they were finally up to his waist. As he got dressed he had a complete view of the black and purple mess which were his legs.   
Louis heart began to ache again as he thought over the assault the day previously. It felt heavy in his chest, as if a lead bar was sitting at the very bottom, making his heart struggle to beat. He had never even spoke a bad word against Zayn, never mind hurting him with his actions. Louis couldn't believe someone would be filled with such hatred, such venom, to enjoy hurting someone so much, just because they were wired differently. 

'Wired wrongly.' Louis corrected himself, shaking his head. All Louis wanted was to be happy, and that meant being left alone. Why did people find that so difficult to stomach?   
'I'm not hurting anyone...' He thought weakly, both his arms wrapping around his middle. His train of thought was interrupted by his phone vibrating, shaking the foundations of the house as it did so. He picked it up from the table as if it were a time bomb; he looked at the small screen and frowned.   
“Unknown number.” Louis mumbled, almost five thousand percent certain that it was a prank call. He considered rejecting the call, but wondered if it was maybe the therapist, or something more important. 

“Hello?” He asked gently, his heart beating frantically in his chest. An even gentler, female voice answered his question.   
“Hiya Lou'.” Claire replied, “How're you today hon'? Feeling better?” Concern leaked into her voice towards the end, it was obvious she was stressing about him. Louis' mouth slackened and formed a small 'o'. He never had anyone bar his mother or Harry check if he was doing okay.  
“Yeah I'm fine, I think...” Louis' voice was uneasy, “Just a bit sore. I appreciate you carting me home yesterday.” He attempted to force a genuine laugh, but it came out like a awkward chuckle. A silence fell like a veil over the both of them, attempting to choke them both. It was shattered by Claire's gentle voice sighing on the other end of the line. 

“You don't have to pretend it's okay around me if it's not Louis.” Claire murmured, sounding as if she was on the verge of tears, yet Louis couldn't be sure. “Do you want to go a   
walk in the fields? We can go down to the stream or something?” Louis didn't even hesitate to reply.  
“That'd be really lovely.” He said, smiling slightly as his breathing began to slow. “I'll meet you where?”   
Claire instantly became more animated, replying in a split second. 

“I'll be at yours in ten, gimme' a second to do my hair or something.” She giggled, “I gotta' look vaguely presentable.”   
Louis' eyes closed, “I'm gay, you don't need to look presentable for me.” She giggled on the other end of the phone.   
“Okay if you insist, I'll be seven minutes then. See you then Lou.” She murmured, before hanging up the phone. Louis slid the phone into his pocket before shivering slightly, not from the cold, but from nerves. He pulled his Ipod from his docking station and plugged his headphones into his ears quickly, hoping it would sooth him, as it always had.

Florence Welch began to croon gently to Louis, removing all other background sound, and creating a bubble around Louis which he felt was impenetrable, He begin to whisper the lyrics to himself, whilst his eyes slipped shut.

“No light, no light,  
In your bright blue eyes,  
I never knew daylight could be so violent,  
A revelation in the light of day.

You can't choose what stays and what fades away,  
And I'd do anything to make you stay.

No light, no light.  
Tell me what you want me to say.” 

Louis' hair stood on end as the song approached his favourite two lines.

“Would you leave me, if I told what you I've done?  
And would you leave me, if I told you what I've become?” 

The song ended too soon. He sighed and opened his eyes, wondering if he had missed Claire pulling up in his driveway. He walked lightly out of his bedroom, trying to put as little weight on his right leg, his worst leg, as physically possible. He hopped into the kitchen and pattered over to the fridge, where he wrote a note on the small blackboard on the fridge, in case his mother returned before he could.   
'Going a walk, ring me if you need me. Lou x' 

He locked the front door behind himself, and sat down on the front doorstep, swinging his house key around his finger absent-mindedly, hoping the time would pass quickly. Whenever he was idle, he usually started to think, which was never a good thing.   
A few minutes later, a small head appeared at the bottom of Louis' driveway, hidden partially out of view behind a hedge, the only distinguishable feature was her short, shoulder length, copper hair. As she passed the hedge line, she turned up the driveway and started to walk up to Louis, a wide smile spreading across her lips.

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Louis returned her huge smile with a slight turn of his own lips.   
'Welcome to my humble abode.' He murmured quietly, pushing himself off the front step to his feet, smiling as he rose to the same level as Claire, yet wincing noticeably as his right leg whined in protest.   
“Hiya, Louis!” She exclaimed, stopping a foot from him and wrapped her right arm around her small shoulder bag, whilst the other snaked it's way around her waist. Louis turned and pushed against the front door limply, checking to see if it was locked, yet the small gesture indicated how weak he was. 

He sighed quietly, and turned back to Claire, attempting to mould his face into a smile. When he turned to face her once more, she had a plastic cup in each hand, with steam flowing from the little slits in the top.   
“I uh, thought you'd appreciate tea?” Claire suggested hopefully, stretching out her left arm towards Louis with the cup.   
Louis' mouth gaped as he attempted to comprehend why she would do something so nice.   
“Jesus, Claire..” He pursed his lips for a moment as he pondered what he was going to say, but he settled with, “Let's walk.” 

Claire nodded and smiled, bright, straight, white teeth beamed at Louis; he smiled nervously and dropped his gaze, focusing on the pavement as they continued on their way. They criss-crossed their way through the suburbs until the eventually reached the long, winding road which took them out to the farmlands.   
After a solid ten minutes of walking, they found themselves completely surrounded by fields. Claire directed Louis towards a small, dirt trail just off the edge of the road, which seemed to lead to the forest a kilometre or so off. 

Louis sighed to himself as his legs whined in pain, before his illness, he had ensured to keep his fitness up a good standard, yet ever since, he found movement so difficult, regardless of his injuries from his beatings. He didn't feel like his fitness had drastically decreased, it was more so a lack of willpower. Depression had sapped all his energy, his will to do anything.  
His breath came out in a longer, more drawn out sigh. Before he knew it, without saying a word, Claire's hand slipped into his, and she squeezed his. The simplest of gestures.   
At that point he realised, he wasn't totally alone. Normally his life was simply dark. Pitch black. There was never any illumination. Yet, somehow, out of the blue, Louis could see where he was. He was still at the very bottom of the deep, dark crevasse; yet he could see where he was, and in which way he needed to climb. 

His heart ached with emotion, almost like relief. Louis gently squeezed Claire's hand in response. She would never know the profound affect she had had on him. Without speaking, they continued down the narrow path, hand in hand, until they reached a small brook which was in a small clearing, surrounded at all sides by large, thick trees. Their branches drooped downwards, treading the water in some places, sending constant ripples along the water's surface.  
Claire found a bunch of rounded, flat rocks on the waters edge, and gestured for Louis to sit beside her.  
Louis cradled his lukewarm tea to his chest as he settled down into a comfortable position, observing a small twig float down the stream. The gentle ambience was shattered by Claire speaking. 

“How are you Lou?” Claire asked, her deep brown eyes had a shyness about them, yet he didn't doubt the sincerity behind them.   
“I'm okay, what about you?” Claire's eyes tightened, as if words burned on her tongue, wishing to be spoken. Louis knew without doubt that Claire could tell he was lying. Normally he was the best liar he knew, he had went so long concealing secrets it became second nature to him; yet now a girl whom he had only met recently could see through him like glass? 

Claire didn't reply, instead she propped her half-empty cup between two rocks; she then reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of thick, black framed glasses, which Louis had never seen her wear before. She hastily pushed them onto her nose, and she looked up to Louis once more, taking her cup back in her hand. Louis raised his eyes from where they were fixated upon the texture of the boulder, and let them rest on her glasses.   
They magnified her brown eyes; it now seemed like Louis was staring into huge orbs of chocolate brown, and within these he could detect no trace of malice or treachery. There was no ulterior motive behind this girl wanting to know if he was okay. None. 

'The same with Harry.' He thought to himself, cringing internally, worrying he had provoked his mind to rear it's head and begin to tear Louis down. 'Not today.' He thought, intent on not breaking down in front of Claire. She had her own sister to cope with. She didn't need another depressive mess in her life to drag her down.   
His curiosity piqued for a slight moment, and he wondered if he had the correct answer or not. He pursed his lips for a moment before breaking the silence that had intangibly settled between the two.  
“Why did you put on your glasses, Claire? I'm not saying there's anything wrong I'm just wondering... I, uh...” 

Claire dipped her head and smiled.   
“I'm weird like this, so don't think I'm insane but uh...” Louis curled up as he waited for Claire to continue, wrapping his arms around his legs.   
“Well, my sister always had this thing where she would assume everyone had something against her, her paranoia was so massive we were convinced it was schizophrenia.” Claire paused for a moment, shaking her head at a memory. 

“I found a pair of old glasses in my room, that aren't even proper prescription glasses, they're just an accessory, but they made my eyes absolutely massive. Before she... she... went quiet, she used to always talk about... a certain poet, who would always say that, 'The eyes are the window to the soul.' Now here is the stupid, idiotic, weird, insane part.”  
She rolled her eyes at herself, almost as if she was putting herself down before she had even let herself speak.   
“I doubt it's any of those, don't put yourself down Claire, keep going.” He whispered as his eyes closed. He could feel the emotion making his throat thicken, and threatened to cause his eyes to overflow, his observation must have been exactly the same as Claire's sister. Without even thinking about it, Louis felt around the rock until he found Claire's hand, and grabbed hold of it gently. The feeling of warm fingers through his was a feeling he missed, and a feeling he didn't wish to relinquish any time soon. Claire scrambled for words for a minute before continuing, 

“Well, I assumed if Hayley could see my eyes, and she could see how sorely I wanted to help her, as much as I want to help you, that she would respond to me. And respond she did.” She stopped a moment, and licked her lips nervously.  
“I wanted to put across to you that I'm no threat, I'm no Laura, Louis. I'm not here to hurt.”   
Louis could do nothing but let a few tears escape. 

“Christ, Claire.” He clenched his right hand and pressed it roughly into his chest, near his heart, where he felt something he had never before. Friendship. He knew there and then that Claire, and in the same moment he knew he had Harry as well, for reasons unbeknownst to Louis, unquestioningly they had taken a fall down into Louis' dark place, a place where trust was forged.

And with that, Louis opened up. For the very first time.


	7. Dice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the few weeks between each update, I'm really stressed with work and stuff. :( (plus my exam results come out tomorrow and i am going to die whoops)

“You fell?” Louis' mother's suspicious questioning resonated throughout the house, not quite believing his excuse, yet also not believing her son, her reclusive son, was asking her permission to go out that night.  
“Yeah, I fell down the concrete steps from the library..” His voice was steady, he was convinced his mother would believe him. “I suppose it could have been worse than a few bruises.” He chuckled uneasily, trying to ease his mother's tension.

She sighed dis-contently, positive there was something more to this than met the eye; she resolved to herself to keep an even more watchful eye over him. She was waiting for the day for the heaviness to leave his eyes, yet she worried it never would.   
She allowed her unease to wash from her face, and replace it with a slight smile.   
“So home for eight?” Louis let out a loud sigh of relief, glad that she seemed to have let go of the subject of his bruises. He chuckled lightly and looked to the ground, hoping she would let it drop. 

“As long as there's no alcohol involved you can stay out, honey.” She added, and experienced a sad, heavy pain in her chest as Louis whispered, “Thanks.” in the saddest, most lonely way. Before he had the opportunity to turn and leave, she closed the distance between them in a few, short steps, then grabbed Louis in a painfully tight hug.   
“I love you.” She murmured into Louis' shoulder, glad that he couldn't see the tears that began to streak their way down her rosy cheeks. It sometimes struck her so hard that she nearly lost her baby boy that she couldn't even speak about it; it hurt even more to see that he was still hurting, and nothing she could do would fix that. It was a simple motherly instinct to destroy whatever threatened to hurt her child, yet she couldn't help Louis when his problems were contained so deeply within himself.

“I love you too, mum.” Louis murmured, almost silently. His self-detestation increased enormously when he recalls his mother's strangled cries whenever she found him semi-unconscious in a bath, the half-dead look on her face after he regained consciousness. 'You selfish monster.' His mind whispered, filled with disdain.   
She released him quickly and bustled off to the other end of the kitchen before Louis could identify the crystalline beads dripping down her face. 

“I'll -uh... go get ready..” He murmured, a stupid comment, because he was already dressed, slowly turning from the kitchen and taking the few steps to his bedroom. He hadn't 'went out' socially in such a long time, disregarding his walk the day previous, and he already couldn't wait until he was out of the loud, crowded place. His only reason for doing this was Harry's begging on the phone, it seemed simply like, 'I want you to be proud of me.' which was such a silly thought, seeing as Harry barely knew Louis.   
He shrugged off his thoughts before they could darken and take dominance. He looked at the clock on his phone, which informed him it was five minutes to seven, and as Louis didn't know what time the gig was starting, he decided he would rather arrive earlier than later. His gaze wandered to his keys and Ipod, his essentials, and quickly slipped them into his pocket. He rested his head against the door frame for a moment, wondering what on Earth he was getting himself into for the pretty boy with the curls. 

'It's quite sad when you think about it. Your desperation..' His mind interjected, tugging at him, begging for a reaction. Louis twitched but thought of those green eyes, those grass-green eyes, and took a deep breath.  
“I'm heading out, I'll see you soon!” Louis called to his mother, she reciprocated with, “Don't impregnate too many girls, honey.” A rare moment of humour; Louis began to quietly laugh, but stopped abruptly after he closed the front door behind him. He tried his best to minimise his mother's suffering, he knew her worry would do nothing but hurt her in the long term. 

He slid into his car without another thought, and gently coaxed it to start up. It purred underneath him, sick of it's neglect and lack of use. Before putting the car into drive, Louis rummaged around the various compartments to try and find a good CD to accompany him to the bar, but settled on setting his Ipod to play out loud, not bothered with finding a CD among the piles.  
'Origin' He thought, as he examined the front cover. He wanted music to calm him, so he gently slid the CD into the CD player, and relaxed back into his seat when 'Away From Me' began to trickle gently through his speakers. 

He slowly pulled out of his driveway, intentionally not looking back at his meagre little home, and began to traverse through the busy roads of Manchester. 

*

He pulled up into the next to empty car-park and parked into a spot far from the front door. A neon sign blared the words 'DICE BAR', with an image of two die beside it, illuminated in bright red. Louis had heard of Dice Bar before, apparently it was a massive hangout for people his age, a fact which made Louis turn slightly green.   
He checked the clock on the dashboard, and only said it was half seven.   
'This is early?' Louis frowned, but he decided that he would wait another half hour to see if anyone else arrived before entering himself. He couldn't bear looking or acting like even more of an outcast than he already was, for Harry's sake. He sat back and leaned his head into the headrest.

'I need to get out more.' He thought, chuckling at his own twisted humour. Without considering why, he began to type out a text to Harry on his phone, but stopped. He didn't want to come across as desperate or lonely like he was. He needed to keep up this façade as long as he could; make Harry think there was some part of Louis that was vaguely salvageable. 

Louis closed his eyes and tried to will the time away.

*

Louis' eyes flitted open half an hour later to a half full car park. Louis gasped out an expletive before starting to get out of his car. He slammed it shut quickly and twisted the key in the lock, then turned and started walking with a timid gait towards the bar.   
When he was around half way towards the bar, a small, metallic purple car pulled into a space in front of the door. Louis slowed down but still continued on his way to the bar. His eyebrows raised when the front door opened and the driver got out without turning the ignition in the car off. The driver was a girl with a large head of curly, dark brown hair, although a large violet streak weaved it's way through her hair near the front. She had a pretty face, which seemed to emanate a constant aura of ... joy? She yanked a keyboard case from the car and slammed the door shut, and started to pick up the keyboard. 

Louis' eyes filled with curiosity as he examined the still-running car. This wasn't the best area of Manchester to leave a car running. The girl looked quickly to Louis, and aimed a broad smile at him, but her smile leached away when she noticed the look of worry on Louis' face. Then her eyes widened in realisation.  
“OH GOOD CHRIST.” She yelled, yanking her car open and leaned in to turn off the ignition. She closed the door and pressed a button on the key to lock it, then aimed a grateful look at Louis, before quickly heading into the bar, trying to hide her blush. 

Slightly puzzled by the short encounter, he began to slowly walk towards the door of the bar; his pace getting more and more slow as he approached the door. He recognised dread and panic, familiar friends, twisting knots in his stomach. He stopped in his tracks completely when he felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. Noises of laughter and music drifted towards him from the bar, sending involuntary shivers of fear down his spine.  
'I can't do this.' He thought, allowing one of his hands to twine into his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking on it roughly, trying to keep himself grounded.  
Without another moments warning, he saw a bright headlight shine into his face. Blinded momentarily, his eyes focused slowly, and his eyebrows rose in surprise as he saw Harry's scooter pull into one of the parking spaces. Yet there was something off. 

Harry slid the key out of the ignition quickly, and stepped off the scooter, sporting a guitar case on his back. Anger seemed to roll off him in waves, which rolled against Louis. He felt he could almost see Harry's curls standing more on end than normal simply due to whatever had irritated him.   
Despite the angry look and the furrowed eyebrows, his features softened somewhat as he noticed Louis, the sharp angle of his eyebrows lessened, almost as if Louis made him happy. Louis silently laughed to himself at the thought.

“Hey pup-” Harry began, but as he approached him and properly seen Louis, he fell silent, all evidence of what had been annoying him previously was forgotten.  
Louis' mouth parted slightly as he wondered what he had done to cause this look of disgust which was spreading it's way across Harry's face. He had nearly started to speak, to apologise profusely for whatever he done when Harry, unconscious or simply not caring about the people in the vicinity, and grabbed Louis by the shoulders with such gentleness and carted him into an alley to the side of the bar which was cloaked in darkness. Louis could feel the strength beneath Harry limbs, and knew if he tried, or wanted to release himself, he wouldn't be able. 

Without even saying another word, with gentle, massive hands, Harry probed Louis' face over his tender areas, the bruises, with a dexterity and sureness which seemed incapable with his huge paws for hands.   
“Lou...” Harry whispered. Louis wondered why his voice seemed... pained almost.   
“What-who did this to you?” Harry mumbled, underneath the gentle façade, Louis was certain a malignant anger was boiling, and would soon break through.   
Louis tried to laugh nonchalantly. His far from convincing acting skills showed cracks, which were worsened by the almost furious observation from Harry. He waved his hand off as he tried to continue to shrug it off.

“I fell down the concrete stairs which lead up to the library... Stupid me eh?” He mumbled, letting his eyes slip from Harry's and found a comfortable position staring at his Vans.  
Louis' ears pricked as he heard Harry's breathing deepen, but sighed with relief as he remained silent. Without further warning, Harry pulled Louis' chin up with two fingers, bringing the azure back to the emerald. As he spoke, his tone was infused with both concern and threat.   
“Don't bullshit me pup. Please. The one thing I ask.” Harry's eyes twitched, almost as if he was pained. In that moment, without even thinking, Louis made a silent pledge to himself to abide by Harry's plea. Anything for him. 

Louis decided he wasn't lying if he said nothing at all, so fixed his gaze on the brick wall opposite him, to Harry's back. Harry seemed to notice this and sighed sadly, allowing his own eyes to find the floor.   
'Look. Look at him.' His mind commanded, it's voice full of venom. The sadness in his eyes was so plain, all because of Louis.   
“Please, Harry. Don't be sad.” Louis begged, wanting to grab hold of his arm in reassurance, but didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He contented himself with patting Harry lightly on the arm which was still gripping his shoulders.   
Harry's eyes seemed even more distressed with this. 

“In exchange for you being so sad? So... broken?” Harry's mouth curled up, “Who. Did. This.” He muttered, separating each word with a deep breath. Louis eyes slipped back to Harry's, and he felt himself drowning in the sea of green.   
“Zayn.” Louis murmured. The very name seemed to take all the wind from his lungs. Harry's teeth snapped shut with an audible snap, which Louis flinched backwards from, and his eyes squeezed shut. 

“That day at your locker... Louis.... I could have stopped it. I could have stopped this.” Harry gestured to Louis' injuries, his voice filled with self-contempt.   
Harry shook his head at himself and remained silent. Louis' mouth began to dry up as he fumbled for the right words.  
'I've ruined his gig. I've ruined his gig. I've ruined his gig.' He repeated over and over in his head.  
“Harry please just forget about this and go do your gig. I'm begging you.” Without thinking, he grabbed Harry's arms in desperation. His pleading seemed to thaw out Harry infinitesimally.

“We're talking more about this at mine.” Harry concluded, but his smile returned to features, which seemed desolate and abandoned without it. However Louis' eyebrows raised quizzically at this revelation.   
“Yours? When?” Harry smiled, and it seemed genuine this time.

“Tonight, after the gig. Niamh is landing to mine, so obviously you're invited too.” His smile slackened slightly however, and Louis wilted under his scrutiny. Without saying another word, Harry gently wrapped his arms around Louis in a light hug; using the gentleness one would use when handling a fragile object or a small animal. Louis could do nothing put take in the scent of Louis. The smell of his leather jacket, the slight smell of coconut from whatever shampoo he used, and a slight smell of smoke. He closed his eyes and leaned his head into Harry's shoulder.

'Why does he keep pretending to be my friend.' Louis thought pathetically, he made himself so entwined in Louis' life; only to inevitably tear himself away, and with him, he'll take everything that Louis knows.  
Without understanding why, Louis reciprocated the hug with an equal lightness, but quickly slacked his left arm, indicated the hug was done. Before he was released, Louis felt hot breath against his ear. 

“You deserve to be happy, pup.” With that, Harry dropped his arms from around Louis and gestured for him to walk with him.   
Louis barely registered himself walking slightly behind Harry. His mind was miles away, thinking over those barely audible, whispered words; made so much more meaningful in Harry's husky tones.   
Without Louis realising, they both pushed through the wooden double doors. The transition from the clean, sharp air of outside to the smoky, alcohol smell of the pub within was enough of a change to unnerve Louis. 

He stopped just within the threshold of the bar, holding onto the door still with both hands; his knuckles whitened with the exertion of gripping the door with such force; locked within his own world. A huge, warm hand wrapped around his shoulder, almost as if sensing his mental agony at such an unfamiliar environment. With Harry's touch, his thoughts seemed to, not dissipate, but move from the forefront of his dark, dark mind, and slipped into the fringes.   
Harry's large hand guided him towards a table near the slightly elevated stage, which was set up with a large, expensive appearing keyboard and a microphone.

As Harry pushed Louis into a seat, Louis' eyes flicked upwards and noticed there was another person sitting at his table. The girl who had left her car running starred at Louis bashfully from across the table, and stuck out her tongue at him, showcasing her bright purple tongue piercing, which matched the purple streak which spilled over just beside her left eye. Louis smiled sheepishly as Harry pulled a chair over from an empty table, scraping the chair loudly against the stone floor, causing Louis to flinch.   
“Louis, meet Niamh. She's my musical soul mate.” They looked at one another and laughed, and Niamh turned to back to Louis and broke into an ear-to-ear grin. 

“Hi pet, I'm Niamh.” She said in a thick Northern Irish accent. She slid one of her hands on top of his for a moment, and poked her tongue at him once more. Louis genuinely smiled back. Her nature seemed so bubbly and happy that it could be nothing but genuine. Harry attracted Niamh's attention once more, and Louis clamped one arm across his middle, whilst the other rested uneasily on the table top. 

He noticed the way they talked to one another, and they seemed so completely immersed with one another's company. Louis felt like he was intruding on a personal moment. Especially that look he thought he could see in Harry's eyes, the look that told Louis that Harry wasn't for the taking. 

'Not that you could ever take him.' His mind scoffed. With that, he felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest; a sinking sensation made him gasp for breath.   
'Deep breaths, deep breaths.' Louis repeated to himself, hoping that his mantra would save him. He excused himself, knowing they probably wouldn't notice he was gone. He waded through the modest crowd assembled in the pub and found his way to the room labelled 'Gents'. He pushed the heavy wooden door open with both hands, and was greeted with an empty bathroom, with two stalls and two sinks with a huge mirror opposing them. 

Louis staggered towards the drink, clutching at his throbbing chest with one hand, grasping for the counter with the other. Louis turned the tap, and the faucet began to flow with ice cold water. He gently rubbed around his eyes with the freezing water, concealing the single tear which had flowed.   
He looked up at himself with a look of such loathing that it scared him. Without wondering why, his mouth squeezed shut and his fist clenched and he threw it backward, intending to destroy the person on the other side of the mirror. He pictured in his minds eye, the shards of mirror falling like tears, crashing and shattering into even more minute fragments. 

'You'll never have him.' His mind scorned, a triumphant air to it's declaration. Almost sadistic.

He pulled his hand backward, only enough to miss the mirror, it still painfully impacted with the hard granite of the counter. His eyes rolled back into his head as he suppressed the whimper of pain which was threatening to emerge from his lips. He cradled his hand, holding it under the cold tap for a minute or so, before feeling the sharp pain recede into a dull, aching pain, and sighed in relief.   
“No permanent damage.” He murmured, but it almost seemed like a question. He substituted the aching, pulsating pain in his chest to focus on the pain in his hand. A tactic which he had stopped making of use of a long time ago. 

He quickly made his way back to their table, but found it empty. His eyebrows creased in concern, but he found them sitting on the stage, sitting tightly together on the piano stool in front of the keyboard. Harry was tuning his guitar and Niamh was playing around idly on the keyboard. Harry threw a playful glance at Louis, which Louis returned, easing the burning in his chest slightly, but not appeasing it. 

The lights dimmed slightly, which indicated their gig was starting soon. A hush fell over the crowd, which indicated attention was on the pair. A stage light shone down on Harry, making his green eyes blaze as bright as the most brilliant of emeralds. He stood up from his perch on the stool and stepped up to the microphone. He smiled slightly, just a slight curl of his lips, and he began to speak.   
“Hello folks. Thanks for coming out to hear me and my friend play. I'm Harry Styles and this here is my dear friend Niamh Smith.” He scuffed the back of her head gently, mussing up the back of her hair, which earned him a scowl. 

“I'm going to play a little set for you and then she'll play her own, but Niamh's up here with me now because, as amazing as I am, I think you'd be too impressed if I sang, played guitar and piano all at once..”   
The audience laughed, their humour aided by alcohol.   
“This is my first song.” Harry stated, setting his capo and turning back to the audience. “This is a cover, and it's called “The Kitchen Floor” by Little Green Cars.” He smiled as he heard a few appreciative whoops from the crowd. Louis was not among them, although the song had a place near his heart, almost as if Harry had known.   
Harry turned to Niamh and nodded his head. 

“One, two, three, four.” They both played a short instrumental intro, which sent shivers down Louis' spine. Harry opened his mouth and began to sing. 

“And in the moment,   
I had forgotten  
All the things that you had said to me.   
I think just like a child,   
You try to burn my mind,  
All it is, is dangerous to me.” 

Louis' jaw was hanging open. Harry had the most clear, beautiful singing voice he had ever witnessed. So much so that he felt his eyes watering. Harry's fist clenched tightly at his sides, taking a break from playing guitar, and brought his fists up to the side of the microphone, and his voice leaked with such passion it threatened to engulf Louis in one fell swoop.

“And through the kitchen door,  
I see you on the floor,  
Say you never wanted me to see.  
I guess what's done is done  
It looks like you had fun.  
I'll just go inside and watch TV. 

I've been enough when it gets rough  
When all the people stare  
Talk on the streets  
And in my face  
Says that we are not living

I'm just a cast you had removed   
When all the pain was over   
I'll sit at home   
You'll never know the things you make me think of.  
You make me think of.” 

Harry's voice broke off, and he started to strum out chords alongside the piano part in a short instrumental, before he approached the microphone once more; he drew in a lungful of air before continuing.

“And when I think about,   
You carry out, everything you said you never would.  
Pick up the telephone,   
I ring my friends at home.   
They say I should stop  
I think I should.

And in a moment, I try forgetting  
Everything you ever said to me.   
I think about the mountain  
And how I've never been there  
Probably because I was with you

You say enough  
You think you're tough to say to me   
It's over  
I'm out the door but I'm not sure   
If I've forgotten something

You lie awake,  
You try to make amends 'cause   
You're not sleeping  
I'll sit at home  
You'll never know the things  
You make me think of.

In through the kitchen door  
I see you on the floor   
Said you never wanted me to see.   
I guess what's done is done.   
It looks like you had fun.  
I'll just go inside and watch TV.” 

Harry's voice came to a quiet halt and he bowed his head, as Niamh continued on with the piano part, which came to a haunting end a half minute or so after Harry finished singing. They both hung their heads after the song finished, and all was silent in the bar. The sound of Louis' chair scraping backwards seemed to alarm everyone. Louis stood up and started clapping, glad the nearly complete darkness hid his tear-stained face. 

The entire bar then burst into raucous applause, and the entire bar gave the pair of them a standing ovation within their first song. Louis didn't even care. He just was reliving the perfection he had just witnessed over the past three minutes. Harry's smile seemed so wide that his face was just made up of a chin, lips, and white teeth.   
Whilst the applause continued, Harry set his guitar down and bowed, and then forced Niamh to stand up and take a bow of her own. He momentarily stepped off the stage and stepped back onto it a second later, carrying a ukulele under his arm. 

“Thanks guys.” Harry said loudly, “This is another cover, by Kate Nash.” Harry hooked the semi-acoustic uke up to the amplifier, and then stepped back to the microphone.   
“This is 'You're So Cool, I'm So Freaky.” Louis smiled at the song title, but frowned immediately after, hearing Harry murmur something into the microphone. Louis' head tipped to the side. He was convinced that Harry had murmured, 'L' before he started strumming on the ukulele. 

He shook his head quickly.  
'Don't be so pretentious and self-absorbed.' He scolded himself silently. Harry stepped up to the microphone and began to sing, yet Louis noticed Harry's eyes darting to him constantly.

“I'm a waste of space  
I don't understand you  
Send me away  
Tomorrow is important  
No matter what you say.”

Louis' eyes widened at the perfection of Harry's voice, but he tore his eyes away from Harry, feeling a second meaning to the lyrics he was singing. Niamh sat, not making use of the keyboard, took a deep breath and sang the next verse, and an almost conversational tone began to form between the two.

“To keep your secrets from me,  
And keep yourself away  
Keep everything to yourself  
Since when was I so keen to share anyway?”

Niamh's voice hovered over the final syllable, and then she looked to Harry as he picked up the singing once more. Entwined, their voices made such beautiful harmonies it made Louis shiver.

“I don't know how I feel,   
Want to feel something real.  
Feel something real!” 

Niamh picked up the verse immediately after Harry finished, and her hands clenched tightly against the dashboard of the keyboard. 

“Well nothing is real,  
Is that what you say?  
Well everything's fake,  
So you're running away.”

Harry's voice resumed, and the pair seemed to have been conversing throughout the entire song. What broke Louis however was the relation from the song with Harry and Louis' friendship. Louis' tongue attempted to wet his drying lips without much success. Harry carried the song into the final verses with ease, and Louis sat back, trying not to love him.

Cause you're so cool...”

*

The rest of the gig progressed well. Harry sang another few songs and then thanked the audience gratefully for their time and support, and bowed slightly before stepping down from the stage, chased by humongous applause. He took his seat beside Louis and sat back to watch Niamh do her set. Louis whispered congratulations about how amazing he was, and then they sat in awed silence as they observed Niamh begin to sing.   
As much as Louis adored her sweet, angelic voice, he could focus on nothing but the slight smoky smell of Harry beside him. 

*

The three of them pushed out of the bar shortly after the gig was completely finished, with their instruments in tow, and Louis felt the pressure which was pounding against his skull eased enormously. Louis began to walk slightly ahead of them, although he turned around slightly when he found that they weren't directly behind him.   
Harry was embracing Niamh tightly, and whispering something in her ear. 

'I can't fucking do this.' Louis thought, as he felt his stupid little heart break into thousands of pieces. He had gotten too attached to the boy who he knew he could never have; yet some small part of him thought that there was a chance, that he wasn't too broken.   
He saw the tenderness Harry hugged Niamh with, and he felt as if someone had punctured one of his lungs. He drew in air but swore he could feel it whooshing straight out. 

'You idiot.' Louis' mind whispered. Louis lower lip wobbled, and he shouted across to Harry and Niamh quickly,   
“My mum needs me home guys, I'll see you again, I'm so so sorry..” He mumbled, before hastily turning his back on them before they could properly realise his state or the cause of it. He heard Niamh shout a loud 'Lovely meeting you' before he closed his car door.   
He felt the fist which was already clamped around his heart tighten, and he tried his best not to look at the pair as he pulled out of the car park. His tears rolled freely now, and he couldn't even find it within himself to care.

That night, his tears stained his pillows as he slipped into unconsciousness, cursing his own name.


	8. Never Be Mine

Louis lay facing the ceiling, the inky darkness leached the colour from every contour and surface in his room, embodying his mood perfectly. His eyes focused on the small, faint stream of light which was flowing in from a minute gap in the curtains from a street lamp outside.

Arriving home was a sketchy memory, despite his completely sober, lucid mind. He had haphazardly parked the car in the drive and stumbled into the house, salt water incessantly blinding his vision. He silently peeled open the front door, greeted with the sound of the Coronation Street theme music playing softly, but thankfully his mother had fallen asleep on the sofa. Without saying a word, he slipped across the hall to his bedroom and closed the door behind him; he leaned against the door for a short moment, feeling the almost constant pain in his abdomen sharpen. It tended to flare up when he least expected it. 

'Zayn done a real number on me.' He thought, trying to inject a bit of humour into his situation, but falling severely short. He sank into the chair by his desk and gingerly pulled his black notebook from a pile of schoolbooks on his desk. He placed it down, still unopened on the desk, and stroked his hand up and down the smooth black cover. At first glance, all one would see would be a simple, innocent notebook; someone would never assume the dark, malignant thoughts which resided within.

He peeled it open quickly and was greeted with the massive title which he had hastily scrawled across the first page.  
'MEMOIRS OF A DEPRESSIVE FUCKUP'.  
It seemed less witty now. He peeled through the subsequent pages which he had filled with his thoughts; his ever so dark thoughts. He reached about a quarter of the way through the notebook before reaching a fresh, new page. He rummaged around until he produced a blue biro, and looked at the blank canvas before him blankly for what seemed like an age. 

How he wished the page before him was a painting canvas. His eyes darted towards the space behind his art easel; two unused canvases lay, almost beckoning him. He could picture the colours, blending so splendidly together, setting his mind totally at ease.  
“No. You have things to do first.” He murmured determinedly, turning his attention back to the notebook. Without even thinking about it, he stuck both headphones into his ears and scrolled for the one song. His song. The song that epitomised his life so acutely that it scared him. When the music began to trickle, a guide almost, Louis started to write. 

'I don't want to be sad any more, I don't want to be “Sad Louis”' 

'I'm such a mess, an undignified, needy, mess.'  
'Why did Harry putting his arm around Niamh hurt? Why? It's not like I have any power or ability to make anyone look at me in that way, so why should I be jealous? Not that he ever would regardless.' Louis then began to aimlessly scribble around the borders of the page, filling in all the unused spaces. After a solid ten minutes, he put the pen down in the middle of the notebook and both his hands fastened onto the seat beneath him, almost as if it were anchoring him. 

He remained perfectly still as another sang came to a chilling climax, his breathing slowed, and his eyes closed. The darkness welcomed him for a moment, but he forced his eyes to stay open; fighting the fatigue which was beginning to overtake him. He looked at his clock on his bedside table and sighed. The bright red figures dictated it was ten past three in the morning.  
'Another sleepless night it seems.' 

He quickly pushed himself up from his desk before his drowsiness could overtake him completely. He instead decided to busy himself with preparing one of the empty canvases and securing it into place on the easel. His mother had insisted on hanging up his last painting, the one of the girl by the riverside, in her room, much to his discontent. He started drawing a faint outline of what he intended to illustrate, and fished out his various paints quickly, deciding what colours he would make use of.  
Surprisingly, his favourite shade of green, that of the greenest grass, made a reappearance. It was a shameless, sad and ultimately tragic colour in terms of what it meant to him, but he treasured it still. He set to work feverishly, pausing not once. His only desire was to transcribe what was in his mind's eye onto canvas. 

Two hours later, with his eyes occasionally uncontrollably closing completely for a moment or so, Louis finished the painting. He set his brush down against the easel and took a step back.  
The setting of the photo he painted was the toilets of the bar he had frequented barely a few hours ago, whilst a young man with blazing blue eyes, him in fact, stood in front of the mirror. However the mirror has a massive crack all down it, horribly distorting the boy's features. His right hand lay on top of the counter, and a deep red bruise highlighted the long, thin abrasion which spanned all along the side of his hand; starting just below his little finger, and painfully spread down to just below his wrist bone.  
Louis looked upon it with something like disdain; he could only focus on the grassy colour of the granite of the counter.  
"I fucking hate you." He muttered, his hands clenching tightly around a tube of empty paint in his hand. He didn't even know who he was referring to any more.

Louis busied himself with washing his messy paint brushes away in the sink in the bathroom, and quietly opened his door a fraction and peeked through. His eyeball was greeted with his mother still sound asleep on the sofa.  
He was torn between rousing his mother and letting her know he was home, and leaving her to her slumber. He paused for a moment before closing his eyes and gently pressing his bedroom door shut.

He returned to his bedroom and stripped down robotically. His only function at this present moment and time was to rest, having completed his sole task; he yanked on a pair of pajama bottoms and fell into his little bed. It creaked gently as he collapsed upon it; he rolled himself up into a small, warm cocoon and fell almost instantly asleep, despite his disquiet mind.

~  
A thick, sparse wood spreads in all directions, it seems the only thing that surrounds me is woodland. I begin to walk among the thick vegetation; getting caught in nettles and thistles from time to time; I am unsure why I walk, but I feel there is something I am here to do. I walk for what seems like hours, when I come to a small parting of the trees. As I walk through the tree line, the sunlight blinds me momentarily, throwing every detail of the small meadow into stark reality.  
Wild flowers grow in random, bright colours all around. Reds and purples and yellows give an atmosphere of serenity to the place. A small brook runs through the center of the meadow, only a half metre wide. I make my way to the centre of the meadow, careful to avoid trampling any bunches of flowers. I traverse to where a particularly bright spot of sunlight is focused, and I gingerly sink to the floor, so at peace. 

I know he arrives before I see him. I... sense him. He sits down beside me and says nothing. I say nothing either; I watch a bunny rise from its burrow and begin to lollop around the lazy green. Without speaking, he slips his hand into mine. My only reaction is to tighten my grip on his massive paws, acknowledging, appreciating.  
Loving.  
I feel the sun warm on my skin and I let my head fall back, basking my face in the sunlight.  
There I lay, gazing into the eyes of God.  
~

Louis' mind drowsily swam into consciousness, although he didn't open his eyes just yet. There was a feeling of unease in his stomach as his dream replayed behind his eyelids. He shivered involuntarily, obviously having thrown his covers off during the night, and tried to wrap himself up once more to find some evasive heat. 

He felt the springs on his bed creak audibly as someone shifted their weight. Louis' eyes darted open and he turned around from the wall in a split second; his eyes widened as he saw his mother sitting silently at his bedside. He instantly became aware of his bare chest, but more so the angry, yellowing bruises which spotted his chest and sides, courtesy of Zayn's feet.  
Louis could recognise the look in his mother's eyes. Agonised. He knew she had seen the ugly marks dotted along his abdomen; there was no point lying anymore. He lowered his eyes in shame and said nothing, his only action was pulling his bedcovers up to his chin, then the silence stretched out.  
His mother opened her mouth to speak, then paused, then looked at him with the saddest, most discontent expression. 

Her baby boy was in so much pain and he had hidden it all from her. Deeply inhaling, she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.  
"We're going to have a long talk, Louis." She whispered; biting her top lip to refrain all the emotions spilling forth. She needed to be strong for him now. Louis looked into his mother's vacant eyes, sea blue met sea blue.  
Without a second's hesitation, Louis crushed himself to his mother's side and sobbed. His entire body shook and writhed as the misery that he had been suppressing all this time gushed out of him, finally sharing his grief, and finally allowing some minute parts of it to siphon off.  
His mother held him tighter and tried not to cry; yet there was only so much pain she could see her son in before she herself dissolved.

**

Louis explained everything. How he had been feeling, how the medication was giving him no respite, how he was being bullied by Zayn. Most of all, how soul-consumingly lonely he felt. He showed the marks on his body, all the artwork. He talked about Claire and the positive things. How sometimes when he was in a certain frame of mind, or a certain song came on, that he sometimes forgot how troubled he was. Then he came to Harry. 

* *

"I think he has nothing but a good streak in him, Louis." His mother said, taking a tighter grip of his hand. "Not everyone is out to hurt you." Louis' thoughts drifted when his mother spoke, he thought to every kind gesture, every kind word that Harry had ever spoken to him. A small voice in the back of Louis' mind always whispered that he was artificial, too good to be true. 

All this time, he'd doubted Harry's genuine actions, with no justified reason. He didn't deserve Harry. Louis broke out of his tangent and looked back up to his mother.  
"I- I couldn't comprehend that." Louis' eyes closed as he shook his head. "At least not at the time. I still don't I don't think."  
His mother sighed, and stood up, releasing Louis. Louis' eyes shot open as he watched her silently leave the room without comment, and wondered what he had said. He had only muttered a quiet expletive when his mother had returned, clutching a wooden photo frame to her chest.  
She resumed her position on Louis' side and revealed the photo; a photo of a couple on Blackpool Pier, obviously taken by a stranger who was amiably forced to take the photo. The pair look happy, broad grins plaster their faces as their arms are twisted around each other's waists. The large bump on the female's stomach indicated she was mere weeks away from having a baby. Louis couldn't mistake the bright blue he had become so accustomed to which was so piercing, even in the faded photograph.

The couple were his mother and father.  
"I was lonely when I was growing up, Lou. Who isn't at one point or another?" She paused for a minute; her eyes focused on the scene outside the window. She was far away from Louis now.  
"I found a boy who seemed too nice, who fit me like a puzzle piece. Yet I wouldn't allow myself to believe it..." She turned back to Louis and smiled. 

"Although he's gone now, he still made me so happy in the time he spent with us, Lou." She paused and touched the glass of the frame tenderly. "He gave me himself and he gave me you and he made us both so happy. " She smiled wistfully as she regarded the picture once more.  
"I could have had so much more time with him if I had gotten over my own, stupid, stupid insecurity."  
Louis wrapped his arms around his middle and sighed, unsure where his mother was taking this. 

"Do you know where I'm going with this, Lou?" His mother questioned, sliding her free hand into his. Louis only responded with a minute shake of his head.  
"You can't assume something won't happen until you know it can't. You could be squandering the best opportunity you've ever potentially had."  
She seemed to exhale slightly, as if she had finally said something she had been meaning to for a long time. Her right mind absentmindedly curled themselves into Louis's fluffy hair. 

She smiled at something Louis couldn't see and cocked her head to the side. A quiet whistling was resonating from the kitchen.  
"Kettle's boiled; want a cup?" She asked, her smile spreading slowly across her soft features. Louis mirrored the smile, and felt something lift. The leaden weight which had choked him since last night seemed to lessen. 

"Yeah sure." He mumbled quietly, "Thank you." He tacked on quickly, and watched as his mother got up and turned to leave, pausing at his easel, supporting his painting from the night previous. Her eyes locked onto the sea-blue of the boy's eyes in the painting, and her eyes seemed to tighten.  
"It looks beautiful, Louis." She whispered, quickly turning from the room without saying another word.  
Louis let his head sink back into the soft pillow and he gazed up at the bland, white ceiling. He wondered if his mother really meant what he thought she did. She thought that he deserved someone who was so irrefutably better than he was? He fished his phone out from among the tangle of bedcovers and pulled it to face him.  
He somewhat expected what he was going to see. Four missed calls and six messages. All from Harry bar one message. He felt his heart wrench as he opened them, knowing that he yet again hurt Harry.

01:01: Haz:  
Lou where did u go we're super worried :( 

01:14: Haz:  
Louis please I'm sorry for whatever I did just tell me you're okay

01:25: Haz:  
Have I done something lou???  
01:32: Haz:  
LOUIS

02:48: Haz:  
I'm sorry 

Louis's heart thumped painfully in his heart, whilst the voice in his head screamed torrents of abuse at him.  
'You left him worrying, you selfish creature.'  
'Not worth a single glance from him.'  
He began to type out a reply slowly, conscious of the alarming rate at which his eyes were beginning to glaze over.  
"i'm so sorry harry i didn't mean to just abandon you last night i just-" Louis paused and wondered how anything he could say could possibly justify leaving Harry when he had went out on a limb to invite him to a personal gig. 

"i can't really justify myself. im just a dick. i'm so so sorry harry i wont bother you again x"  
Louis added on the 'x' as a final goodbye. The kisses he knew he could never give or receive. 

He pressed send, signing away his heart.


End file.
